Liar, Liar
by butterflies-and-broken-dreams
Summary: Rampaging drunks, bitter friendships, lies, secrets and betrayal - they all have their stories to tell. Collection of oneshots. Various pairings, including requests.
1. Liar, Liar - CedricMarietta

**Liar, Liar**

Marietta/Cedric

Warnings: kind of dark, sexual references, death, alcohol, swear words

* * *

"I love you." he whispers in her ear. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

A thousand little _lies_.

* * *

She's liked him since the start of first year, since Cho pointed out that cute Hufflepuff in the corner, the popular one, (like Cho, always,_always_like Cho) the one who would never in a million starlit years be interested in _Marietta_ (she doesn't say it, but Marrietta can tell, that's what they all think)

Silly little airhead Marietta, who reads all the Witch Weekly magazines and paints her nails bright pink because she just _loves_ the colour, (even though being girly is so not in right now) who'll never get a boyfriend with those big horse-teeth, who is the anomaly for Ravenclaw (because how'd she get in there when she's so _dumb_?)

Because that's what it all revolves around, isn't it? Cho is the one who got the chaser position in second year, (even though Marietta has wanted it since first) Cho who has all of the friends, (who she likes to ditch her for at every single opportunity) _Cho_ who makes Harry-fucking-Potter fall in _love_ with her.

It's also _Cho_ that Cedric asks to be his girlfriend.

(and it breaks Marietta's tiny-fucking-heart)

* * *

She doesn't mean it to happen. They're both drunk, at the celebration party for his first task (though really, they all know that everyone is talking about Harry Potter at this point) and she really, _really_ doesn't mean it but Cho (and everyone else) has long-since gone to bed -

And it happens.

On the Hufflepuff Common Room sofa, (god, could she be any more of a slut?) dog-eared and messy, not at all how she imagined it (though it's always been _him_ she's imagined it with) but she's such a stupid skank that she clings onto it.

Clings onto those fake, fake words. Thinks they're real.

Which is the story of how Marietta Edgecombe lost her virginity to Cedric Diggory, her best friend's boyfriend.

* * *

He promises to break up with her, of course (pants on fire). '_After what happened with you, how could I not?' _(very, very easily, as it turns out)

'_It wasn't even that good_!' she feels like screaming back at him, though that doesn't explain those goddamn butterflies that keep swimming around every time she sees him, every time she sees him with Cho, who is supposed to be her best friend, yet they haven't spoken in _days_ (out of guilt, mostly, on her part).

But when they do speak, she ends up feeling a hell of a lot more ashamed, after Cho spends hours (quite literally) just going on about how_nice_he is, about that award-winning smile (the one Marietta knows all too well).

'_Soon_,' he tells her. '_We'll be together_.'

Yet they go, him and Cho (always, _always_ him and Cho) to the Yule Ball and she's stuck without a date, (she counted on _him_ taking her) sitting in the corner with Harry Potter (who is so _clearly_ hung up over her best friend) and Ron Weasley (who is so _clearly_ hung over Hermione Granger) watching _them_, talking, laughing, _kissing_.

It makes her sick - she throws up after the song ends - to the stomach.

* * *

It's the second task that plants the nail in the coffin, once and for all. 'The most important thing' - well, it had to be _Cho_, didn't it? While Marietta is second best _again_ - (not just to Cedric) waiting for him to show up, emerge victorious (as she knows he will), with his _prize_ (and the sad thing is, she just knows Cho won't mind being objectified like that).

Tick. Tock. Time's almost up. (more, so much more than she knows)

Ignoring how totally, utterly _cute_ his hair looks when it's wet (that sort of tousled, rugged effect that just makes her sigh) and the fact that her only friend could die, some small, detached part of her brain really, really hopes he _drowns_.

* * *

Then comes the final task.

The one where he returns in a body-bag (not really, of course, but she says it for emphasis).

Cho, beautiful, ignorant little Cho, screams and cries and hugs the corpse (which Marietta doesn't point out is actually kind of creepy) until she has to be physically peeled away from it, spends days mourning his death, nights muttering his name (_you didn't even have sex_, Marietta feels like saying - she's not very good at comfort)

No tears fall from her face.

In fact, and she knows it's selfish and completely sadistic of her -

_She's actually kind of relieved_.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter, or the Great Gatsby (see if you can find the reference) or this cover image.

**A/N**: Wow this was way darker than I expected it to turn out (my emotions just got the better of me I guess). I think it's original though, I've never really read anything portraying Marietta like this before.

Any requests/reviews would be good, thanks!


	2. Pleasure Has No Soul - BellaBarty

**Pleasure Has No Soul**

Bellatrix/Barty

Warnings: angst, swear-words, death, pain, sexual references

* * *

His dreams are of her.

Always, _always_ of her, the woman with the dark eyelashes that frame the unruly grey eyes that stare into his black, _black_ soul, almost as black as her own.

Those lips, the ones he kissed (down by the willow tree, near the lake) when he was barely fifteen and she was nearing twenty-seven, engaged to a man that was not himself, no matter how desperately he wished for it.

Masochist, that's what he decides he just be, for when she raises her wand against him and whispers that tiny word (crucio, crucio, _crucio_), he feels no pain, only pleasure, only, only _her_. _Bellatrix_.

He utters the very _word_ with _reverence_, like she does with their master, the master he comes to see as she does, a thing of glory, power beyond little Barty Crouch Junior's wildest dreams.

Before, long, _long_, before he met her, he was a silly, stupid boy with foolish ambitions. Now, in his eyes at least, he is _strong_, brimming with potential (that what she tells him once, and he feels like engraving it into his heart), _capability_. What he doesn't realise is that he is the same childish boy, only with bigger, darker fantasies this time around.

Even her smile, that rare one he barely ever gets to see, enthrals him, sends him toppling over the edge, because his love (if, if it can be called that, it is more of _lust_) is like a cliff that he is just waiting to _jump_ from.

Little Barty Jr (except he is not that, not a child, any longer) has fallen for the woman with the starless heart and it feels like a bullet through his own. Because she is married, and he is not good enough for anyone, not his father, not Bellatrix Lestrange, not even himself.

Love, love to Bellatrix is a weakness, something to be looked upon in disgust, shame and that is why she just never know he loves her. He thinks she suspects, uses it against him, after all with a fluttering of the eyelashes and a pouting of the lips he does anything she wants and he thinks she does, she knows that, but she can never, ever know the true extent of his feelings for her.

After all, he is just a boy and she is a woman, pure and fine, and proud, so utterly divine in her ways it makes him want to cry, weep for this beautiful, fiery demon who both intimidates and excites his feeble heart.

Then their lord, their indestructible, infallible dark lord fails at the hands of a child and she, Bellatrix is furious, furious at him, at the world, at Harry Potter, at the Longbottoms. She convinces him, that Alice and Frank need to pay for their actions (some small part of him argues they are people, innocent people who did nothing wrong) and he does what he does best, sits there and nods his head, while staring at those perfectly red lips, the ones he kissed barely three years ago.

Run, run away little Barty Crouch Junior because Bellatrix Lestrange will be the death of you, she's already ripping you apart, tearing your life to shreds and not caring one small piece about it.

Irreversible brain damage, that's what they did, he did, to Frank and Alice Longbottom, tortured them so badly they forgot who they were, forgot who their son, that chubby, guiltless child was. That's what they do, him and Bellatrix, that's what she does, ruins lives and never cares about it, and now his is ruined too (but does she care?), Azkaban, for the both of them, where he thinks that he maybe belongs (after all, he is a criminal now, and a criminal for trusting her)

- He knows that he should never have believed in the woman with the dark eyes and the black, _black_ soul.

* * *

All the repeating words are just my way of trying to capture his insanity.

I don't own Harry Potter

Review/request please! I will write _any pairing, _no matter how rare. Unless it's an inanimate object and a human being. Yeah, I don't think I'll write that.

Virtual hugs to:

**Nobody** - Really? You thought she was a bitch? I kinda thought the villain was Cedric - but hey, reader interpretation is a very good thing. Otherwise, thanks so much for the lovely review and the 5/5.

**sexymauders** - thanks for enjoying and yes, the Great Gatsby reference is the beautiful little fools thing, well done!

**Intes1ty** - thanks!

**Teleramdude** - yeah, a lot of my stuff is like that lol.


	3. Storm and Hurricane - BlaiseParvati

Warnings: some mature content

* * *

It starts with a wink. A flirtatious one, sent to that Slytherin boy in the corner, the one who is friends with Draco Malfoy. Secretly, you had a crush on Draco in first year, but when you saw what he did, no, _does_ to Harry, you were put off by those Slytherin boys (for the time being).

It's a saying your mother taught you, and Padma, when you were little, after a fight with your father, looking wistfully out of the window, she said that bad boys will always break your heart. But he, _Blaise_, is different, you hope, he is _special_.

It escalates into kissing, rash, heated snogging in empty classrooms late at night. You know it will never work out, he is just using you because you are there, and you are willing, but you dare to dream. You are complete opposites, you think to yourself, as he drags his hands through your hair, while furiously kissing your neck.

That little thought goes away soon enough.

He doesn't believe in love. He told you that the first time you kissed. Not apologetic, not sorry, but he said it in that usual blunt manner, cold, uncaring. Even his touch is icy, while yours is warm, warm, _burning_.

You believe passionately in love. You believe in hearts and flowers and nights by the fireplace, snuggled against each other, in Leonardo DiCaprio and Mariah Carey.

You get none of that with Blaise, (although you both have a striking resemblance to Romeo and Juliet) but, by then, you don't particularly care.

Sometimes, occasionally, you think you might love him. His love is stinging, hurting, _addicting_ but it can't keep you from smiling, and whispering_Parvati_ _Zabini_ into your pillow at night.

You like to smile. It's nice, it feels nice, to grin and beam at people, to throw your head back in the air and laugh at something funny. But Blaise, you've seen him smile, what, _twice_? That small, thin upturning of the lips when he sees you in the classroom, waiting for him, as he rakes his eyes hungrily over your body doesn't count, you decide.

If Blaise laughed, you'd need convincing that the fabric of the universe hadn't been ripped apart, shattered into a million pieces, like your heart when he isn't around.

Stars. You love them. You love astronomy, astronomy and divination, staring at the stars, lost in that city of twinkling lights swept up in the blue of the sky. When you meet at the astronomy tower, you point out the stars to Blaise. He makes some usual sarcastic comment, then proceeds with kissing you, like he always does.

You hate to read. Reading is boring, boring, when you could be doing something, anything outside, enjoying nature, drinking in the bright, glowing sun. Blaise loves to read, you know that, from the way he refuses to meet in the library (it is like his church, his sacred temple),the way he is constantly quoting Shakespeare, the way, that when you stare into his eyes, there is a glassy, poetic mist to them. He reads muggle books, even though his mother is one of those Purebloods, the ones that prohibits any muggle activity whatsoever and would probably kill him if she found out.

Sometimes you wonder what would happen if she met you.

He reads Shakespeare and Dickens, and plenty of others you can't name for the life of you, but you remember his words, the words he has read from his books, the words he says to you. He calls you his 'Lady of Shalott,' and you whisper back 'I am half-sick of shadows'.

Blaise likes the dark. It's half of the reason you meet up at night, stay up until 2.00 am. Sometimes, you sit there in the creeping blackness, before his lust takes over and you end up in his bed again, and again, and again. He likes routine, organisation, while you are impulsive, reckless, _out of control_. Occasionally he murmurs that he should have been in Gryffindor, and you should have been in Slytherin, but you know that it isn't true.

He's arrogant, and you think it comes off the most around you, he likes to whisper things in your ear about himself, things that you hardly believe are true, but probably are, knowing Blaise Zabini.

He smells like butternut squash soup, you say decidedly, one night. He tells you that you smell like Juniper berries, bitter and spicy. You laugh and tell him to not be so articulate, so elegant with his words and he says he can't help it, that you're just too beautiful. He's beautiful too, in his own way, with his high cheekbones and his dark lashes that cover his misty eyes, the ones that dance with shadows when he is around you.

He is a storm, and you are a hurricane and that's what it comes down to. Even in seventh year, you refuse to let him go, refuse to accept that he is dark, that he is fighting for the wrong side, while you are fighting for Harry, for Dumbledore, for good.

You spend the night with him before his trial. The night is like all the others, trembling hands, lipstick-stained sheets and long since-discarded clothes. You wake up late in the morning, noon, maybe, and he is gone.

You don't care.

You know that this time, he'll come back.

* * *

I don't own:

Harry Potter (belongs to JKR)

Shakespeare

Charles Dickens

The Lady Of Shalott (Alfred Tennyson)

Mariah Carey

Leonardo DiCaprio

Any reviews/requests are appreciated!


	4. Scary - CygnusBellatrix (platonic)

Scary

CygnusBellatrix (platonic)

Warnings: death, Azkaban, swear words

* * *

From time to time, his daughter scares him.

She is - as he has often stated - his favourite, (a new position for her, previously held by Andromeda) at the very least in choice of marriage.

For she had not run off with a dirty Mudblood, (brought shame on all the family) disgraced their name with that demon-child, (Nymphadora, or some new-age bullshit as such) nor had she married a coward - Lucius Malfoy, (he had never quite liked the fellow) yet she had chosen wealthy, (if simple-minded) pureblooded Rodolphus Lestrange, whose money had supplied the Blacks with golden ashtrays and new silk bed sheets.

But what he likes about Bellatrix is her spirit - her ability to stay, never back down in the cause for justice - freeing the world from the filthy-blooded, an ambition surely they can all aspire to.

Yet now - now, she seems to have taken it too far.

Got herself landed in Azkaban, for screwing with some blood-traitor's minds, for being one of _His_ Death Eaters - one of these days, that passion of hers is going to get herself killed, Cygnus thinks to himself quietly.

That's what she used to be. Quiet. Indifferent to the Cause and the Fight for Pureblood supremacy - rather like him, in fact. If anything, they had thought Bellatrix to be the sort to run off with a Blood-Traitor, not scornful, arrogant Andromeda (who had naturally, been the family pet).

Her fourth year had changed her, though, (for she came home that summer with a violent streak and a jealous nature...with a voice) it had changed her in ways she never divulged to anybody, but they had all agreed were for the best.

Well, maybe they weren't.

Not that he doesn't support the Cause of course - but to sacrifice himself over it, no, he would never dream of it.

That's always been the difference between the two - her blazing, burning energy (inherited from her mother, most definitely) compared to his lazy, relaxed soul.

Never one to take things too far, to try too hard for anything - let alone someone not himself.

Now the Dark Lord had been and gone and fallen (as Cygnus had always suspected he would) and she was stuck, with no Dark-Knight to save her, no power from anyone any more, trapped with no way out.

The person he felt most sorry for was that lackey of hers - the young one, with the adoring eyes and Ministry-Father, who looked (looks, he corrects himself, they aren't dead - not yet) upon her with desire.

Except Bellatrix had never been taught, never known how to _love_, so she had spurned his advances, already perfectly-happy in a business arrangement, worth just over a thousand galleons (yes, it _had_ been a good idea) so cruelly _rejected_ young Barty Crouch.

If he could feel empathy, he would for the young fellow, who had gained the same fate as her - imprisonment for life, locked away until the end of his days, soul being sucked out minute by minute.

He shudders at the thought.

For that will be his daughter - except he's not worried for her - she'll get through it, kicking and screaming, he knows she will, telling the Dementors to 'fuck off' and other such actions that had gained her a slap at home.

Cygnus shakes his head silently as they lead his daughter out, followed by the Dementors and _wonders_...

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

**A/N**: So...?

Any thoughts? Reviews? Requests? All would be very greatly appreciated.


	5. Droobles - FrankAlice

Droobles

Frank/Alice

Warnings: swear words, sexual references,

* * *

She was in there. Alice. He would have known that voice anywhere, even though he had never heard it make that strangled little noise before.

It shocked him, made him terrified, angry, even though he had only gotten up to place his homework on Flitwick's desk before the Professor got there. He pushed open the door slightly to see her, huddled up in the corner, her hair splayed all around her and her eyes wet with tears.

"Go away!" came the yell, but her voice was strained and she seemed more to be pleading with him.

"Why?"

"You're friends with him." The name was spat out with loathing that Frank had never heard before.

"Chris? We haven't been friends since last year when...wait, Alice, did he _do_ anything to you?"

"We broke up on the train." was the muffled response.

Frank was torn between punching something again and leaping for joy.

"That bastard." he muttered, before his expression softened. "He's done this to a billion other girls Alice, don't worry, you're well shot of him."

"This was different!"

"Different how?"

Alice sobbed some more, before spitting on the ground in fury and disgust. "We slept together, alright? And then he brags to his friends about how he 'scored' before moving on to some slutty Ravenclaw and dumping me."

Anger pulsed through Frank's veins. How dare he? How dare he take away the girl his best friend loved, use her and then humiliate her in front of his pathetic new friends?

"We'll I hope we're not interrupting anything." A new voice said. Frank's fists clenched as he recognised the emerald-eyes and slick-back blonde hair, dragging some giggling girl (tart, Frank thought disgustedly) behind him.

Both their faces went ashen when they saw the pair, huddled together in the corner - her obviously in a horrible state, hair wild and bushy, glasses askew, eyes red and puffy.

"Oh, uh, Alice." Chris said uncomfortably, finally realising

"Get out." Frank and Alice hissed together, spitting with rage.

"Alice, oh god, I'm so, so sorry." Frank edged slightly closer to her. "Take it," he whispered softly, pushing the blue packet towards her, "It's not that much help, but I thought it might improve it...just, just a little bit."

"Droobles." She said, mostly to herself. To Frank's surprise, she swept him into a hug. He allowed himself to breathe into her scent; oranges, rain and of course, Droobles, while he stared into those gorgeous periwinkle eyes, occasionally letting his own drift back down to those soft, pink pouty lips.

Alice tipped her head up to the side as she gazed upon Frank.

Frank, who she had barely even noticed before, that sweet, albeit geeky boy who had taken her to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show with Kris (later Frank wondered if this was how her and Kris had got together, a perfect memory spoiled by the shock that came after it), the boy who loved to play on his guitar (even though he wasn't very good).

Frank, the one with the eager eyes that seemed to twinkle so fondly when she was around and the shapely nose that had been broken in fourth year (protecting her, oddly enough.)

She felt herself leaning slightly, but jumped back when she realised, a tingling in her spine.

"Thanks for the Droobles. " She said, wiping away her eyes one last time as she left the room, leaving a very disappointed Frank Longbottom in her wake.

* * *

"I thought you had a date?" Alice asked as she slid into Frank Longbottom's booth. Alice had been apprehensive about coming to the Hogs Head on her own, so she was extremely glad to see a familiar face in there.

Frank laughed bitterly, "Ditched me for Kris, ironically enough."

Alice pulled a face. "He's not dating that bitch Brown anymore then?"

"Well," Frank said, "Judging by that, " here he pointed to Kris and a brunette appearing to suck each other's faces off, "I'd say that they're over. "

"I'd say the bastards cheating on her."

"I'll bet you a galleon on it. We'll probably know by the end of the week with all the loudmouths around Hogwarts."

"I'll bet you another one that when they do break up it will be so damn hilarious, I'll snort out my Droobles. "

"Ah, but that's only if they aren't broken up already."

Alice stuck out her tongue at him, but with a friendly wink to go along with it.

"You wanna go to Honeydukes? I'm sorry, but I can't stand to watch babies being made any longer." Frank asked and Alice, after chuckling a bit, stood up and exited the bar with him.

"Don't you just love the snow?" Alice breathed, a flush of excitement spreading on her face.

"No...it's really, _really_ cold actually." Frank said, tugging at her hand to pull her towards Honeydukes.

Alice couldn't shake the emotion of how...nice it felt.

"So...umm...any plans for Christmas?" She asked Frank, playing with a strand of her hair.

"Stay home, wear mums knitted jumpers...you?"

"Well, there's this movie on on the 17th...it's called King Kong and um, I was maybe wondering if you wanted to see it?" said Alice, shuffling her feet on the floor nervously. Frank looked taken aback, so Alice changed her words quickly. "I mean, you don't have to, I'm not really that pretty. Although that shouldn't really matter that much, I don't think you're that sort of bloke and I'll probably just eat Droobles the whole way through it and ruin it." she squeaked.

"Alice, " Frank cut her off with a kiss on the cheek, "I'd absolutely love to go with you."

* * *

She had her arms wrapped around his neck and he was trailing soft kisses down hers, their breaths intermingling.

"You wear way too much hair gel," she breathed out. Frank grinned and beaming down at her, he placed a kiss on her nose.

"And your breath smells like Droobles. So?" He kissed her again, this time on the mouth, only pulling away for oxygen.

"You blush way too easily."

"And you're just too damn attractive." Frank growled, hands wandering slightly. Alice went in for a kiss, then pulled out slightly.

"Broom closet?" She whispered.

"Broom closet." He agreed, dragging her down the corridor, her giggling as they went, before pushing the door to #36 open and pulling Alice inside.

"Well well Mr Longbottom, it seems that we meet again, " she said, laughing softly to herself.

"Just kiss me already, " he groaned, before grabbing her and pressing her lips to his, running his tongue along her bottom lip as she moaned into his mouth, her hands pressed up against his chest while his hands moved to her shirt, gently sneaking underneath it as she hastily undid the buttons of his.

"I missed you." Frank whispered against her hair.

"I miss you whenever you aren't around." she told him, swiftly capturing his lips with hers.

"I know it might be too soon, because we've been dating for just a couple of weeks, but Alice Marie Gamp, goddammit, I love you."

"I love you too."

"Really?" Frank said, eyes shining.

"Shut up and kiss me."

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: So, this is kind of...meh, but I hoped you like it anyway, **guest** and thanks (and a virtual hug) for reviewing/requesting. There was like, a whole 1500 other words, of how they met/how Chris and Alice got together but it was really, really shit so I deleted it.


	6. Cokeworth - JamesLily

Cokeworth

James/Lily

Warnings: swear words. Fluff. Kissing.

* * *

That..._Cokeworth_ smell (dust, and pollution, with a faint hint of urine and nicotine mixed in as well) invades his nostrils as he hurries along the dimly-lit path, constantly checking the small, torn scrap of parchment with the address: '78 Scarcroft Road' hastily scrawled on top, along with the words 'near Spinner's End' (of which he had no clue of the meaning).

He stops, inspects the fairly neatly-cut grass, (a contrast to the wild, untrimmed lawns the rest of the street displayed) squints at the door, which appears to have taken some damage, but that small number at the top is still quite legible, and strolls along the pathway.

And James Richard Potter, Pureblood, Gryffindor, Quidditch captain, handsome devil (his most-preferred label) knocks on the door.

He waits.

Until she appears, ginger (more of a _red_, really, he corrects himself) hair thrown loosely back into a lazy bun, baggy t-shirt and all, the typical Lily Evans 'I-don't-care' attire, or perhaps due to the fact he had arrived, quite out of the blue, on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer (although the weather didn't quite know it yet) at her house.

"Hey," she says cautiously, door still wide open, scratching the back of her neck (a _very_ nice neck it is, he notes). "I wasn't expecting you until next week."

"I came today." James replies, shuffling his feet awkwardly on her patio. "I missed you."

True, he had missed her, Sirius had called him out on it, (used some _very_ choice words to describe it) he had thought about her more often than not, about the last day of term, (which he would later classify as the greatest in his life) about all they had _done_ that day, and how for the first summer in his life, Lily Evans was his _girlfriend_.

The very word, even after six (or seven, he did forget) months, still tastes funny on his tongue, like Firewhisky, or that laugh-inducing potion Sirius had once slipped into his drink, (to get back at him for something - he never could quite remember _exactly_ what it was) like how he felt when he kissed her.

Which he had done, several times in fact.

She rolls her eyes - those meadow-green eyes he just so happens to _love_ - but a smile still plays at her lips - which, if possible, he adores even more and stands to the side, allowing him to pass through to the living room.

* * *

He takes a tentative seat on the armchair near to the window, drawing the frayed purple curtains firmly shut, in an attempt to ignore the pouring rain outside (which he, no doubt, would have to suffer when he left).

"I misapparated." James tells her, squishing around until he is comfortably settled on it. "I had to walk for a while."

"You never were very good." Lily smirks, dropping a quick peck on his lips before turning around and bustling back to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"I'm fine." He fumbles around in his pocket before producing a crooked, slightly muddy flower and placing it on the coffee table in front of him. "I...er, bought you a rose. From a muggle man about a town away. I figured it would be more meaningful, than if I just conjured it."

"It's pretty," she says, tucking the flower behind her ear. "Thanks."

"Like someone else I could mention."

"Smooth bastard." She tips the remainder of the (slightly sour-smelling) carton of milk into the cup, before lifting it to her lips and taking a delicate sip.

"I _love_ it when you talk dirty to me."

Another roll of the eyes, (her signature move) before she sets down the mug. "How's Sirius?"

"Moving on." There is a long pause, neither of them wanting to discuss the topic any further - the subject of how Sirius got his heart shattered into pieces, (largely James' fault) the bittersweet conclusion still a relatively avoidable matter for both of them.

"What about Remus? And Peter?"

"It's been a week Lils," James says, lifting one eyebrow. "They're pretty much the same as always."

"I'm trapped _here_ aren't I?"

She lets out a deep sigh, taking another gulp of the tea before shuddering.

"Good?" James asks, a slightly amused smirk appearing on his face.

"Horrible. I don't even like the stuff. I just figured it's more mature than drinking _apple_ _juice_."

"Please. Lily, you're in the presence of one of the marauders. We don't like to use that word."

She gives a small giggle (even after six months of dating, the sound enthralls him) and takes the cup up to the worksurface, tipping the rest of the contents down the sink gently.

"How's employment going?"

Lily's light-hearted smile quickly vanishes. "It's surprising how few newspapers are willing to hire a Mud - "

"Don't - "

"blood," she finishes, and he winces at the word. "You pretend like it doesn't exist, James. I'm a prime target in this war. I can barely leave the bloody house, for god's sake!"

He slides his back against the chair, inching away from her, mostly unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry." Lily takes his hand in hers, her gaze dropping to the ground as she tries to blink back the tears that are slowly forming. "I'm just a little stir crazy."

"It's fine." James hesitates, knowing she won't like what he's about to say. "My father...has some contacts in journalism. I'm sure that he could - "

"I don't want his help." She interrupts, dropping her hand to the coffee table and rubbing her thumb unconsciously around the oak. "I know that sounds rude - "

"It's okay."

"And I'm sorry, but I want to make it on my own merit. Not as James Potter's girlfriend. Have...have you told anyone else?"

"Nobody other than Sirius, Remus and Peter knows. And..._her_."

"You know that dating me puts you in danger, right?" Lily says, looking up at him sadly, emerald eyes slightly misty, lips pouted into a (almost contemplative) frown.

"Danger is my middle name."

She gives him a small, playful shove, grin beginning to return to her face. "I thought it was Richard?"

"That too." He leans forward, capturing her lips with his for a few, brief, wonderful moments. "I...you're amazing ," he whispers into the crook of her ear, cursing himself for not having the courage to say the words, but playing it off. "I don't care if I die. Life is but a dream with you in it, anyway."

"Poetic arse," she mutters, moving back into her chair, but the beam she gives him tells James that she doesn't mean it. "How's auror training?"

"Non-existent."

"Must you _always_ speak in riddles?"

He opens his mouth but she cuts in before he can speak. "Actually, don't answer that."

James chuckles, (the sound makes her slightly tingly inside) entwining her hand with his and giving her fingers a squeeze. "We don't start until September."

"Just like school."

"Urgh, Lils, it's been a week, can we not bring that place up?"

"You were the one who was all Mr. Popular," she teases, swinging their arms in rhythm a little. "I was that shy, nerdy girl in the corner."

"You were _my_ shy nerdy girl in the corner."

"Excuse me, _Potter_," she says, lips brushing against the stubble of his chin. "But I don't belong to _anyone_."

"You want to reconsider that?" He buries his nose in her sweet-smelling hair, (a lot like...lemons) gently, running his fingers through several strands of it at once.

"No." she pushes off of her seat and goes to join him on the armchair, straddling his lap. She pulls away the first three buttons of his shirt (rather aggressively, he appreciates) before sliding her arms around his neck -

"Did the doorbell just go?" James breathes out, unwinding her arms from him.

"Shit."

He taps her on the nose, a small smile appearing on his face. "Be good."

"You want to get it, or shall I?"

"Considering I'm half naked, I think it's your turn to get it."

"Three buttons, James." Lily untangles herself from the armchair (or, more specifically, his lap) and leaves the living room, blowing him a mock kiss as she goes. "Three buttons!"

He quickly redoes his top and smoothes down his his hair, attempting to make himself look at least _somewhat_ presentable, before she reenters with (oh joy) her sister.

"Alright, Petunia?" James offers, jumping up to shake her hand (which she does, with much distaste). "How's the husband? Still a - "

"_James_!" Lily interrupts, shooting him an I'm-annoyed-at-you-but-yes-he-_is_-a-prick (bastard was more the term he was going for) glance and showing Petunia to her seat on the edge of the sofa. "Apple Juice?"

"Tea, actually." She puts down her rain-soaked umbrella, giving James a quick look (mostly of disgust, but he thinks he sees some fear in there too).

"How are you?" Lily calls from the kitchen, switching the kettle on again.

"Fine." Petunia replies monotonously, inching away from the wand that lies on the coffee table.

"Oh, that's mine, sorry." He picks it up and puts it back in his pocket, mindful of the way she flinches when he goes near her. "Er...if you don't mind me being blunt, Petunia...why are you _here_?"

"_James_!" Lily reproaches yet again, clearly trying to contain her smile.

"I could ask the same of you," she sniffs, "I didn't realise you and my sister were still..._courting_."

"Courting? What is this, the 1800s?" James scoffs.

Both ignore him.

"We are." Lily affirms, kissing him lightly on the cheek to prove her point. "So, uh, why are you here?"

"The house." Petunia smooths down her skirt nervously. "My - Vernon and I are trying to start a family."

"Congratulations!" Her sister squeals, pulling her in for a (very awkward) hug.

"So?" James raises an eyebrow.

"We need a house." He rolls his eyes at the so-typically Petunia thing to do, not visit her sister for six months then show up, demanding her to sign over her _home. _

"Why...why can't you just pay for one?" Lily asks, wearing an expression of confusion (and her naivity makes James want to both hug her and slap Petunia at the same time).

"We can't afford a two bedroom just yet - Vernon recently lost his job, so - "

"He sent you over here to beg Lils to just give you this one." James finishes, the anger beginning to build up in his stomach.

"This is where I grew up." Petunia informs him coolly. "It's as much mine as hers."

"I think _her_ has a name." He takes a deep breath, telling himself not to snap. "Besides, it belongs to Lily. Your parents left it to her after they - "

"Very unfairly," Petunia hisses, beady eyes narrowing, lips pressed into a straight line. "They always did love you more."

"Petunia, they loved us equally." Lily tells her, gripping tighter onto James' hand.

"Ever since they found out you were a _freak_ - "

James stands up, hand instantly flying to his back pocket before he stops himself. "Leave." He tells her through gritted teeth, glancing back at Lily, who gives a small nod in confirmation. "Get out."

She picks up her handbag, swinging it over her shoulder before practically flying out of the place, slamming the door behind her as she goes.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

He strokes the ginger hair beneath him, sighing softly to himself as he does it. "I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"I know."

"I just - " he clenches his fists. "She shouldn't speak to you like that."

"It's not like people haven't done it before."

He thinks back to Snape and feels like punching something. Dirty, rotten _bastard_. "They shouldn't. You're...you're perfect Lils."

"Nobody's perfect," she says, nibbling lightly on the ends of her fingernails. "Least of all me."

James' arms encase her, swooping her in for a hug, which is how they sit, for several minutes, until, slowly enough, they fall asleep on the armchair as the afternoon sun begins to shine through the clouds again.

* * *

He glances at his watch (gold, his grandfather's) and nudges her lightly awake, informing her that '_he'd better get back to Sirius,' _picking up her umbrella ('_that's bloody mine_' Lily grumbles, mostly to herself) and swinging it over his shoulder.

"Bye," she says, curling up in a ball on the armchair and trying to get back to sleep.

"Where's my goodbye kiss?" James tugs at her hand and leads her to the door (with much reluctance on her part). "_Now_ you can say it."

"Good_bye," _she gives a half-scowl, half-laugh and kisses him on the cheek. "I'm going to slam the door in your face now, okay?"

"Okay." He waits for the action and smirks as he is greeted by the sound of a loud 'bang!' and her disappearing footsteps, striding back down the path and turning the corner, back to home, back to Sirius.

Without her.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

**A/N**: Suggestions? Pairing requests?


	7. Wide Awake - SiriusOC

Wide Awake at Night

A Sirius/OC story

Warnings: swear words, sexual references, dark themes

* * *

She barely talks to anyone.

No, Cathy Sutton remains ever the aloof, stone-hearted bitch, only stopping to converse with the '_lowly peasants_' (or, that's what Sirius imagines her opinion of them is) whenever she feels like it's her _job_ to criticise.

Apparently, (according to James, at least - though whether that's an entirely _reliable_ source of information, he's not sure) her family is rolling in it - the proverbial 'it' being, of course, money.

Muggle, though that snobbish attitude and air of arrogance makes it all-too-easy to forget that she is, at heart born of non-Wizarding lineage - very much unlike Sirius, who is as Pureblood as they come (definitely _not_ proud though, thank you very much).

Would explain...a lot, considering how she turns her nose up at anything she deems to be too common - he doesn't even think he's seen her use her _fingers_ for food (which everyone does, it's like a _rule_).

He would understand it, if (and this is where his underlying shallow personality kicks in) and only if, she were actually _pretty_.

Lily Evans has a right to be a stuck-up cow, because Lily Evans is typically beautiful - long, unusually-coloured (and therefore holding a unique value) hair, small, slim frame and tits like _whoa_ (not that he would ever, ever, _ever_ say that to Prongs).

Don't think he's crushing on his best friend's...not-quite-girlfriend, because he's _not_. Sirius Black is not a monogamous man, a free bird forever, refusing to be tied down and sent to the slaughterhouse to be served as Hogwart's Sunday Roast Dinner.

Or, the highlight of his week.

Why remain with one person forever when you could have them all, one by one - every single girl you want?

And his list most certainly does _not_ include Cathy Sutton.

He doesn't even know how she got into Gryffindor; she's never seemed courageous in the least, rather the opposite in fact.

Sirius supposes it's just an alternative to the other houses - Slytherin would be her best fit, except for her blood, Hufflepuff is too _nice_ for her (like the time she snapped a first-years quill in half, just because he bumped into her) and Ravenclaw, well...he's not sure what happened there, because she's literally _always_ got her head stuck in a book.

Cathy isn't a real Gryffindor, not like the rest of them, she doesn't even have _friends_ for fuck's sake - not that she would ever try and make them, because that's just _her_. Stand-offish until the day she dies.

She would, Sirius thinks, in theory, be the stereotypical alpha-bitch, the one everyone pretends is hot, (you know what they say, fake it till you make it) and either worships or quivers in fear at the very mention of their name.

That would be if she were popular.

It's hard to work out sometimes, if she's a misunderstood-girly-girl (as the majority of wealthy teenagers of the female variety often are) or an even-more-misunderstood-loner/goth/emo/punk (the words blur sometimes).

She seems to fluctuate, but he would say (and this is where he might be wrong) that Cathy leans towards the former of the two.

Because he's never seen her wear black.

His opinion of her isn't harsh - not at all - he feels it's _perfectly_ justified, after all, she's the one who started it.

Hating him for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Calling him a 'prick' and telling him to 'fuck off' whenever he tries to speak to her. It's not _his_ fault that the Marauders found it necessary to retaliate. Several times.

God, she's even mean to _Remus_ and that's practically on the same scale as kicking a puppy in the heart.

Honestly? Sirius can see _exactly_ why nobody likes her.

* * *

He's a _dick_.

Sirius Black, with his 'windswept' dark hair and eyes like 'limpid tears' (god, how the hell can you have _clear_ tears? That just doesn't make _any_ sense whatsoever) and 'chiselled chest.'

Cathy wishes she could say that they weren't all actual quotes from the blonde, simpering bimbos at her school, but unfortunately...

Not that she has anything _against_ blondes. She's blonde herself...so it kind of defeats the point - just like when James Potter and that complete-fucking-arsehole best mate of his make fun of Purebloods, like they aren't in the Book.

The Pureblood Directory, the list of the most 'prestigious' families in Britain - or the dumbest shit Cathy can think of, because she's met people belonging to half of them and they're about as far away from 'cultured' and 'refined' as you can get.

Sometimes (translation: all the time) she wishes that she could have been normal, that she could have gone to a normal, human school instead of being stuck at Hogwarts. They don't like her there, they don't want her there and they sure as hell don't _need_ her there, so why the fuck is she forced to attend?

For no reason whatsoever. They don't even learn proper math, or English, just how to wave a stupid twiddly stick all day long - no wonder they're all lazy, selfish pricks, they never do a single thing for themselves, let alone _other_ people.

Even the ones labelled as 'good' still have their moments. Like her. And Black, obviously. Man, the Sorting Hat really fucked up when he didn't put _him_ in Slytherin.

In fact, the only supposedly-brave-and-kind-at-heart one of them that hasn't acted horribly to her yet is Peter Pettigrew.

Which is sad, because (and she hates to admit it, because of the aforementioned reason) he is a snivelling, cowardly mess.

The rest treat her like shit. Especially him. Especially Sirius-I'm-so-much-better-than-you-Black. She never _used_ to hate him, until that day in Third Year (but more on that later).

Bottom line is: Padfoot (as all the whiny, annoying bratty friends of his call him) is the worst Gryffindor you could ever meet. Period. She says '_Gryffindor_' purely because of You-Know-Who and Mulciber. That's it.

The sorting-hat should have placed her in Ravenclaw. People there actually seem _nice_. Gryffindor is just filled with evil vixens, (Lily Evans and Alice Gamp) their friends (Marlene McKinnon and Mary McKinnon) immature bastards (James Potter and The-Other-You-Know-Who) and _their_ friends (Frank Longbottom, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew).

Oh, and Cathy.

But then - nobody really notices her anyway.

* * *

Their story, as it turns out, was a hell of a lot more complicated than the aloof bitxh and the daring bad-boy rebel/womaniser (or the number of other names you could use to describe Sirius Black).

It was not, by any means, like one of those romantic-comedy-young-adult-novels she found, often enough, in the dormitory (abandoned carelessly by the other girls in Gryffindor) nor was it one of those fairytales that his mother read him when he was little, where the Pureblood Prince got the Pureblood Princess and the muggle villain was vanquished.

No, it was unlike anything you'd read in the books, or see in one of those muggle whatchamacallits, it was..._different_.

But, I guess that's why you're here.

To find out why.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter, or the cover image.

**A/N**: This was a new multi chapter that I was working on...but I decided to scrap it and just post the first chapter here instead.

Review/Request!


	8. Million - TerenceParvati

Million

Terence/Parvati

Warnings: um, none, I don't even think I swore this time around, (unless you count damn) oh, and shirtless Slytherins

* * *

He's rather charming. (in that Slytherin sort of way)

You try and convince yourself that he's good - you've never seen him cheat at Quidditch (not like the rest of his house) but then, it's not an _exemplary_ way to judge moral character.

Not that he plays on a team - no, you remember - he got kicked off in second year, after Malfoy bought his way in, with those flashy new brooms that very almost showed up Harry Potter (if anything could).

You don't play either, you just get dragged along by Lavender to 'scope out the hotties' on the practice-pitch, because according to her, there is 'nothing sexier than shirtless, sweaty boys.'

Privately (at least after getting a look at _that_ chest) you agree.

There are a million reasons not to fancy Terence Higgs, but apparently your heart decided to ignore every one.

He's three years older, for a start.

You suppose your type is just rich, good-looking jackasses, because after all there was that Draco-faze in first year - something you really aren't proud to admit - and Terence...well, you've never seen him do anything _bad_, per se, but he's a Slytherin.

It's in his nature.

Just as it's clear that the both of you are not in the stars, not meant to be...but you can't help wondering -

Why your stomach does that backflip when you see him, why when he smiles you melt a little inside, why, why _why_?

It's like a wave, crashing against the shore, your heart when you see him - pounding and pounding and not stopping until that stupid cologne-y scent is completely out of your mind - which takes, for the record, about a gazillion hours.

And his eyes - _damn_ - those pools of brown could kill you some-day, you just know it.

Yet you know, no matter how deep inside, that it's not going to happen. You might as well have a crush on a member of the Weird Sisters (who are coming to Hogwarts, apparently...!) because they're just as likely to take an interest in you.

Except that would be a hell of a lot creepier.

You're not going to end up in the arms of the boy with the brown eyes and the heart-stopping smile.

That's okay.

You'll still get that fairytale ending.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter.

Review/request guys...it's really simple.


	9. Fluorescent Adolescent - TedAndromeda

**Fluorescent Adolescent**

Ted/Andromeda

Warnings: swear words, sex (not graphic), really long

* * *

"Tonks," Andromeda says briskly, "And, hmmm...let's see," she squints "Gardener? Thirty points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for indecency in a corridor after curfew."

She waits a few minutes for Gardener to leave the corridor before turning on Ted, who is leant against the wall, casually lighting a cigarette, which Andromeda takes from his hands, drops on the floor and stomps on, putting out the light.

"Another five from Ravenclaw." she says. "Tonks, this is the third time I've caught you out here with a girl this week. Do you want detention?"

Ted shrugs, a cheeky grin on his face.

Andromeda snorts in disgust. "You're a sick bastard." she tells him. "You take girls and use them, then dump them when they're past your sell-by date."

"Hey, Black, they all know that it's just a bit of fun."

"Gardener," she gestures the way the girl left,"Has a boyfriend."

"Who is, coincidentally, a dick."

Andromeda runs a frustrated hand through her hair.

"Look," he says. "I'm sorry for the whole she-has-a-boyfriend thing. I'll never snog someone who is romantically attached again."

"Can't you try not to snog anyone you don't plan on dating?"

"Well, I'll try Black." he says, "But my debonair ways and charming good looks often hinder me."

He throws her a wink, and she marches away from him, hoping he doesn't see the blush on her face.

"Interesting!" He calls after her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"What?"

"That was my first conversation with a Pureblood who didn't bring up my blood status."

"Filthy mudblood." Andromeda sneers half-heartedly and turns the corner, leaving a still grinning Ted Tonks in her wake.

* * *

"I was aware," he says, eying her creamy-coloured legs appreciatively. "That prefects didn't do patrol in just a nightdress. Not that I'm complaining."

"Tonks," Andromeda sighs, "We are trying to discuss your snogging habits - which last week, you promised to stop!"

"No," Ted argues, "I promised to stop snogging girls with boyfriends."

"Why is it always that wall?" she asks curiously.

"Tradition?" he shrugs. "I received my first kiss against that wall. And about every girl in the school after that."

"Every girl?" Andromeda raises an eyebrow.

"Not every girl." he says, "Unless you'd like to take a go at it Black?"

He takes a step closer to her, staring her in the eye, holding her gaze for what seems like an eternity until she realises where she is.

"How dare you?" Andromeda sputter, a smattering of pink on her cheeks, "I am engaged!"

"Engaged?" It's his turn to be inquisitive. "To who?"

"Rabastan Lestrange." She says, a note of pride in her voice.

"Lestrange...Lestrange. Oh yeah, I know him. From what I've heard, he has quite a few girls of his own." He looks at Andromeda strangely. "And you're okay with it?"

"It's how Pureblood society works." she replies in a slightly strangled voice, walking down the corridor.

Ted jogs and easily catches up with her.

"So you're not allowed to cheat but he is? That's pretty sexist."

"Coming from the boy who snogs a different girl every night." Andromeda sniffs, wiping her nose with a sleeve. "Every one in the school?"

"Never been rejected, but it's not like I try and seduce people like your family." He pauses. "Though the blonde one is pretty fit."

"Narcissa would eat you alive." Andromeda tells him, giggling slightly. "And you got rejected just a few minutes ago."

He pauses, considering this. "True. Would you like to reconsider your decision? It would be a terrible shame to break my record."

"I'd rather not."

"Is it because I'm a mudblood?" Ted stares at her with those royal-blue eyes before she starts and stutters.

"I...don't know."

His eyes flicker back to her legs. "Have you ever tried fishnets?"

And she punches him in the shoulder as hard as she possibly can.

* * *

When she meets him next, he is without a female companion, but carrying a lighter, whistling on his way down the corridor.

"Should I be scared?" Andromeda calls out teasingly.

"Maybe." Ted replies solemnly. "There's going to be a pretty major crisis soon enough."

"What?"

"Professor Reaser's office going up in flames."

"You're a psychopath." she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "What the hell did Reaser do?"

"Said the reason I'm failing is because I'm muggleborn."

"You're failing Defence Against The Dark Arts?"

"Yes thank you Black, we can't all be Pureblood geniuses like you."

"Give me the lighter." Andromeda says, and he sulks for a minute before tossing it over to her, where she holds it up and examines it. "This might help you quit that smoking as well. Nasty habit."

"You're so boring, Black. "

"I'm sorry I don't try to set light to my Professor's office."

"You gotta live in the present, not the past. Tell me Black, have you ever tried Firewhisky?"

* * *

Andromeda can scarcely believe that she is sitting in the Room of Requirement, at 11:13 at night, with Ted Tonks (a muggleborn no less), hiccoughing and giggling and trying to keep the firewhisky down without vomiting all over the place (though she's sure he wouldn't care, he never does). Alcohol, she decides, is weird, but strangely comforting. A lot like Ted Tonks.

"Your turn." Ted says. "Ask me if I've ever..."

"Had a detention?" Andromeda finishes, looking at him before taking another sip of the strange liquid and shuddering.

"Had a detention? Of course I've had a fucking detention, who hasn't ever -" Ted stares at her, "You've never had detention?"

"No." Andromeda replies, blushing again.

"God, Purebloods are so screwed up." A sigh escapes from his lips. "Fine, so it's now my personal mission to get Andromeda Black a detention."

Silence falls between the, until he speaks up again, with a waggle of the eyebrows. "Have you ever done it?"

"Done what?"

"It."

"What?"

"Sex, Andromeda." Another sigh. "I'm presuming that's a no."

She nods her head.

"Wanna try?" He waggles his eyebrows yet again.

"You're a slag Ted Tonks."

"A slag?" Ted bursts out laughing again. "Boys can't be slags."

"That's misogynist." Andromeda retorts.

"I am impressed." Ted says, slurring slightly. "You use big words when you're drunk as well."

"How drunk are you?"

Ted makes a sloppy gesture with his hands. "About this...much."

"Come on Tonks." Andromeda sighs. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

"Tell me about your sisters."

"Did you take this much interest in the girl you were snogging just now?"

"Nope." Ted replies, popping the p. "She wasn't as pretty as you Andromeda."

She feels her face tingling and stares straight ahead. "Bellatrix...used to be so...good."

"Are we talking about the same person here?" Ted snorts.

"Yes, sure, she wasn't exactly a muggle-lover but she wasn't really too keen on killing all of them either. Bella and I, we used to be best friends. I don't think she knew what lipstick was until fifth year. We used to do ballet together, like the good little Pureblood girls, and she defended me when the others picked on me because I couldn't do a pas de bourée."

"What changed?" Ted asks, biting back a comment about a pas de bourée.

Andromeda shrugs.

"Summer after her fifth year she came back and that old Bella was gone."

"Hey." He tentatively pats her on the arm, which at first she jumps at, but then relaxes and lets him. "What about Narcissa?"

"Narcissa was always more interested in nail varnish, earrings and boys than me. She wants glamour and glitz, I just want family, and people that care about me. Is that daft?"

"No. I'm glad you're not one of those girls."

"You mean every single girl you've ever dated?" The words are almost spiteful, he thinks, laden in angry sarcasm that he can't mistake for what he thinks it means.

"What about the person who's engaged to Rabastan Lestrange?"

Andromeda flushes. "I love him."

Whatever remnants of a heart Ted Tonks has start to slowly sink and shatter.

* * *

"Sex tips? Polishing up for Andromeda are we Lestrange? Or one of your other bits on the side?"

Ted plops himself beside the scowling boy, giving him a self-satisfied smirk. (but he feels so empty inside knowing that this dick has won.)

"You see, Gardener told me I was a better kisser. Which confuses me, because, you know, aren't I supposed to be inferior in every way possible?"

"Fuck you Tonks."

"Plenty of girls already do that for me."

"Filthy sluts." Rabastan snarls, struggling to keep calm.

"I bet you've shagged half of them Lestrange, you hypocrite. And I'm not engaged, like some people I could mention. But Andromeda's too classy to fuck you, isn't she?"

Ted almost misses the swinging fist before it hits the side of his face.

"Wow, Lestrange, picking the muggle way to fight. Doesn't that go against some kind of code?" Ted coughs out, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve.

He doesn't miss the second one before he blacks out.

* * *

Ted winces as her fingers fondle his cheek, her nails skimming lightly over the bruise.

"Does it hurt?" she whispers.

He bites his tongue from the remarks swimming around in his brain and instead gives a slight nod of his head, strangely revelling at her touch.

"I'm sorry." Andromeda tells him breathlessly, and something in his stomach churns.

"Don't get all sentimental on me now." Ted murmurs into her ear and she jumps back slightly, recoiling at his words.

"I like your necklace." He's trying to change the subject, but he honestly does love the way it sparkles against her. "Diamonds. Very Pureblood."

Andromeda scowls at him. "Narcissa got it for me, for Christmas. Which reminds me, I got you a present."

"It's not diamonds is it?"

"No." she scowls again. "Maybe I won't bother."

He's serious again. "I didn't mean it."

Not 'I'm sorry', because Ted Tonks doesn't apologise.

Andromeda tosses him a package, which he eagerly rips apart.

"Thanks for the scarf, Black. How'd you know I liked the Chudley Cannons?"

"Lucky guess." she shrugs.

(Ted can't bear to tell her he never has been, and will never be, interested in Quidditch.)

"I got you something as well." His palms sweat a little as he hands her his present, running his free hand through his blonde hair.

"Firewhisky?" she asks, as her lips quirk upwards.

"You still need to get that detention, Black." Ted throws her his trademark smirk while shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh? And how do you plan to do that?"

"I never got my vengeance on Reaser. And I figured it was about time I messed with that damn cat of hers."

"Where does firewhisky come into the equation?"

"To get you drunk enough to agree with what I'm about to say."

"We're not going to kill it are we?" Andromeda asks nervously.

"I'm not going to do anything. You are."

She meets his gaze anxiously, not dropping her eyes from his, those eyes she could see the world in, until he feels trapped, boxed in by this stupid, foolish feeling that he hates so goddamn much, that emotion he's not supposed to feel, the one she'll never feel for him.

This dumb, nauseating love that he has for Andromeda Black (Tonks, his mind corrects and he curses himself for it), turning and twisting his insides, his demented dreams of him and Andromeda as a couple that he can't tame, he's addicted to her like he is to nicotine, and he's not sure if he's falling in love or off of a cliff. This weird emotion makes him want to throw himself off of one.

Because they would never work, him and Andromeda Black, the stuck-up, cynical, sarcastic goody-two-shoes, bookworm prefect who he thinks is the best, most wonderful girl he's ever met, because of her family and that fucking bastard who doesn't even deserve to know her. They're two worlds apart and that makes all the difference.

Fuck, Ted thinks, is there a cure for this?

* * *

High heels, some detached part of his mind notices. She's wearing high heels, pink ones (kitten heels, he remembers), pink to match that long taffeta dress with a far-too-low-for-Ted's-own-good neckline, but right now he's supposed to be focusing on that glare of hers, the one that almost definitely means she's mad at him, and then she's grabbing his arm, pulling him out of the ballroom with such force he drops the plate of hors-d'ouvres he's supposed to be holding and drags him up what seems like a gazillion flights of stairs, pushes him into a bedroom, presumably hers, and slams the door shut.

Yep, she's mad at him.

"Well if you wanted me this badly, Andromeda, you should have said." Ted says lazily, casually leant across the ginormous bookshelf that stretches across her bedroom wall, painted a dull grey-white colour.

"What," she asks through gritted teeth, "the hell are you doing here?"

"Working as a waiter Andromeda. Food doesn't get there by magic you know."

"You do realise that if anybody here were to find out your blood status, they would kill you on the spot, Ted, it's not safe!"

"C'mon, I even bought a tuxedo for this, ditched the usual leather jacket. Have a laugh, Andromeda, I just wanted to see you over the holidays."

"Why?" Her eyes sparkle with tears as he struggles to comprehend the question, get out the words he's been meaning to for a long time.

"Look..." he sighs, "this is hard for me to say, because I'm Ted Tonks. I'm not a hero, I don't do the right thing, I'm just supposed to be this heartless, insensitive dick with no feelings. I'm not meant to give a toss about anything."

"But," he chokes out. "Maybe I do."

He's not crying, because Ted Tonks doesn't cry, Ted Tonks never gets upset like this, especially over a girl. "About you."

The tears are falling fast now, slipping down her porcelain cheeks, and this is the part where they're supposed to embrace, hug, kiss (and if he's lucky, shag) but she's backing away from him, with a hint of what he thinks is fear in her eyes.

And his whole world comes crashing, tumbling down before him.

"I'm engaged." she croaks out and it's like she's stabbed him through the chest a million times over.

"But it's not like you love Rabastan," he pleads, as the weight on his chest begins to grow, "You haven't even shagged him."

There's something of guilt on her face and Ted sinks onto her bed,sagging back, head in hands, only then noticing the picture of them, her and Lestrange, on her window and feeling like punching it.

"You fucked Lestrange." It's not a question, it's a weary statement of someone who feels like they've just been slapped. "Do you realise what sort of diseases he probably carries?"

"Shut up, Tonks." It's half-hearted, but it still stings.

"Fine." Ted spits out. "I'll go home. All I ever was was a mudblood to you anyway."

Not before shoving over that bookcase so all the beautifully binded books tumble and crash among the floor and taking particular time in smashing that awful picture of her and Lestrange, he apparates back home, leaving a sobbing Andromeda alone for what they believe is the last time.

* * *

He awakes, bleary-eyed, next to some nameless girl at The Leaky Cauldron, which he assumes is where he apparated to. It's almost midday, he's hungover and he feels like screaming, or throwing something.

He does both.

And then he goes home to his mother, who welcomes him back with a hug (which he begrudgingly agrees to), and gives him the usual speech 'life is hard' blah blah 'she didn't deserve you' (which is complete bullshit, he thinks, the reason he's in this position is because he didn't deserve her.) 'there are other fish in the sea' trying to get through to him until he's ready to physically throw up (although that might be from the alcohol).

First thing he does once he's free is chuck the black scarf out of the window, because he doesn't want to look at it anymore.

He chucks himself into his bed, howls muffled by the pillows, and stays there for the rest of the holidays. Lying awake, trying not to think about her, because he gave her everything he had and she just stamped on it, put a stake through the heart he never thought he had. All of her words repeat in his head, swimming through his brain until he just wants to collapse and die.

Because she broke him.

* * *

He sits alone on the train ride. He never used to sit with her before, no, couldn't risk her precious Pureblood friends finding out that she conversed with a mudblood, but he usually sat with the other Ravenclaws, throwing a sarcastic comment in here and there.

As he gets off the train, he sees her and Lestrange snogging by the lake, him tucking some dumb pink flower, a rose maybe, into her hair and he feels like ripping something in two. They're perfection and he is anything but.

Hogwarts remains like that for a while, him ducking down every time he catches a flash of that pretty (ugly, he corrects himself) brown hair, avoiding them when he's out in the hall, trying to ignore every attempt she has to speak with him (there are only two, and they are just her trying to tell him off for some dumb prank he pulled). Ted stops seeing other girls, rejecting their advances like she rejected him.

He hasn't smiled in two weeks now, just some thin-lipped line he gives to convince others he's okay.

It's getting harder to talk, harder to _breathe_.

* * *

"You bastard!" Ted slurs -maybe he's drunk, he can't remember- , but he's currently in a broom closet with Rabastan Lestrange (he never thought he'd say that), who is pinned up against the wall by his throat, choking out obscene threats towards Ted. "You have this great, fabulous, beautiful, bright girlfriend with a heart of gold and legs that I bet would look amazing in fishnets and then you go and shag some blonde tart in a broom corridor."

Said blonde tart trembles, pulls on her skirt and flees from the room, as Ted continues. "We don't deserve her. Neither of us do, nobody in this school does. She deserves some terrific, boring Pureblood guy who she'll settle down and have kids with, who'll buy her all the books in the world and never once look at another girls arse. Someone who will laugh at all her sarcastic comments, who won't smoke because he's too good to do that, a gentleman who will treat her right, make her feel warm and fuzzy inside." He looks Lestrange up and down with disgust. "You're not worthy to breathe the same air as her.

"At least," Rabastan rasps, "I'm not a mudblood."

And Rabastan definitely doesn't miss the fist swinging towards his face.

* * *

"I accept," Andromeda says slowly, as though she is tasting the words, "That I may have been slightly harsh toward you."

"Slightly?" Ted raises an eyebrow.

"Rabastan told me what you said. He seemed very disparaging but it was..." She gets a faraway look in her eye. "Nice of you. But Ted I don't-know-your-middle-name Tonks, why the hell did you have to go and punch him?"

"George." Ted grins for what seems like the first time in years.

"George?"

"Edward George Tonks."

"Wait...wait...wait...Edward?"

Ted stares at her. "You thought my first name was Ted, didn't you?"

Andromeda blushes. "No."

"We've been friends for about a year and you didn't even know my first name."

Suddenly he's laughing, in peals on the floor, uncaring of what anybody might think (although it's midnight, so the corridors are pretty deserted), gasping and wheezing for air.

Andromeda offers him her hand and he ignores the beating of his heart as he stands up.

"So," she says, hands still entwined. "About what you said at the ball."

"Forget it." Ted replies a little too quickly. "I was drunk."

"Seriously Ted? _That's_ your excuse?" He can feel the traces of anger in her voice, so he tries to take a calm approach.

"Forget it." he repeats, and she flounces away from him.

"I'm in love with you, Dromeda." Ted confesses to an empty corridor.

* * *

Because she's already gone.

The next time he sees her, he notices she's in a skirt as short as hell, the top button of her shirt is undone and she smells so strongly of cake icing he just wants to grab her tie, throw her against a wall and -

Merlin, he's going insane.

"Happy birthday." Ted murmurs.

"Thanks." Andromeda replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I got you something."

"Oh, uh," she licks her lips nervously, which he swears to merlin she did on purpose, just to wind him up, "Thanks again."

Ted throws her a parcel which she claws apart.

"What is it?" she asks, squinting.

"Muggle fairytales. I...felt bad about destroying your bookcase. I'm sorry."

Andromeda blinks. "Did you just apologise to me?"

"Maybe, yeah." Ted shrugs, and silence falls between them, until she wraps her hands around his neck and kisses him on the lips. She tastes of caramel and strawberry jam and her birthday cake, and it's a blissful pause from the world, a hold on the war, a break in time until they pull apart and just look at each other for what feels like eternity till she takes his fingers and entwines them with his own again.

Something flickers inside of him and million and one times.

* * *

"Whatever you have with the mudblood needs to stop."

Narcissa shakes her pretty blonde curls off of her face as she speaks sharply to Andromeda, who pales and takes a step backward.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I saw you kissing."

"What? I think you must have mistaken Rabastan for someone else."

"I may be two years younger than you Andromeda, but I'm not an idiot. And unlike some people, I'm not a whore."

"Oh really?" Andromeda hisses. "Well at least I didn't shag Carrow, Cissy. That neckline is far too low for your own wellbeing."

Narcissa turns a shade of violet. "Amycus is from a decent family."

"Oh, so you wouldn't mind if I tell mother and father about your escapades?"

"And you wouldn't mind if I told them about yours?"

"I'll end it." Andromeda promises numbly. "And we can all go back to playing happy families and dumb balls and dresses."

"Good." Narcissa tosses her hair again. "You know what happened to Aunt Cedrella when she married a Weasley. Imagine what would happen if they found out you were sharing spit with a mudblood." she wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I just want things to go back to normal Andromeda."

"Me too." Andromeda breathes. "Me too."

* * *

"Ted?"

"Hmmm...?"

"I need to talk to you." Andromeda breathes out, swinging their hands along.

"Wait," Ted says seriously. "Do you want to stay at mine for Easter?"

"Yours?" she squeaks.

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "It's just, normally we can't go out in public and that sucks, so I thought you'd like to stay over at mine. It's an okay place and there's a beach nearby so we won't get bored..." He sucks in a breath. "And my mum makes really good tea."

"Yeah," Andromeda tells him as she kisses him, temporarily forgetting, "That sounds cool."

* * *

His fingers furl tightly round hers as they sit on the sand, watching the sea wash in and out and back again.

"It's beautiful." she murmurs.

"Like something else I could mention."

"And what's that?"

"I think you know."

And he kisses her, not their first, not their last, it's short and sweet and gentle until Andromeda feels the first drop of rain on her hair.

Ted breaks off the kiss and stands up, offering her his hand.

"I want to stay." she whispers.

"It's raining."

"I love the rain."

He looks at her, his voice small, barely audible as he says it. "I love you."

Andromeda takes up his hand, just looking into his icy blue eyes and takes him back to his house wordlessly, before pulling him up to her room.

* * *

When he wakes up, she's gone, only her sweet scent lingering behind on his pillow, which he sinks his head down into and screams. No note left behind, no warning but he realises what it means, he's not an idiot. Except maybe he is. He should have known, because he's Ted tonks. Andromeda Black is a good girl, the kind who loves her family, who has the sort of memories she's proud of, like getting ten Os on her O. (Ted barely scraped 6 As and two Es). She'll end up marrying Rabastan, Ted thinks bitterly, working for You-know-who.

He'll probably end up dead in a couple of years time.

Ted Tonks doesn't get a happy ending.

"Snogging Gardener again I see." Andromeda says bitterly, after shooing the girl away, walking with him back to Ravenclaw tower.

"Shagging Rabastan again I see."

"Why do we have to fight like this?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe it's because you led me to believe you cared about me, then ditched me!" he stops. "Is this what it was all about? The whole thing? Just a game, using me to make me see how I treat women? Well congratulations Andromeda, you made your point in the most fucked up way possible."

Andromeda pales, getting a tiny lump in her throat which she tries to ignore. "No, Ted, how could you think I would do that?"

"I'm not sure what I think anymore."

"My family," she chokes, "they would kill you if they found out. Narcissa said so."

"Andromeda," Ted spins around to look at her, taking her hands in his, still a sharp tone in his voice. "I would die a million and one times to have you as my girlfriend. That's what - " he hesitates, "Love is. Only - only - you never said it back."

"You don't love me."

"I love you so much sometimes it feels like I'm dying. I love you more than I love myself. And yes, you drive me insane, but I can't enjoy life when you're not around. You captivate me Andromeda Black and it breaks my heart to say it."

"You make it seem so black and white."

"Isn't it?"

"No." Andromeda murmurs. "It's not."

"I'll be waiting." Ted tells her. "For you. Graduation is coming up. If - if, you don't love me, you can tell me then, and I'll leave you alone forever."

"What if I do?" she whispers.

"Then I'll run away with you."

* * *

She drags him away from the refreshments table, out, out, into the corridor, pulling him away into a broom cupboard, where she half-expects him to make some innuendo-y remark, but he just looks up at her silently, expecting an answer.

Slowly, hesitantly, she grabs his tie and pulls him towards her, pressing his lips against her own.

His response is quick, eager, taking ahold of her, almost slamming her into the wall (but she doesn't mind), and kissing her with such passion, fire that it makes her knees wobble and her head dizzy with lust for Ted Tonks.

"Yes?" he questions while peppering her neck with kisses.

"Yes," she breathes. He breaks apart from her, letting a small moan escape from her lips, which he grins at.

"Why?"

"I realised," she says, pulling him in closer again, so that his head is nuzzling her hair. "That life really sucks without Ted Tonks in it."

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter, or the Arctic Monkeys

This was written like, a year ago so it kind of sucks and that was when I went through my Arctic Monkeys faze, so a lot of Fluorescent Adolescent slipped in.

Review/Request?


	10. White - GabrielleDennis

**White**

Gabrielle/Dennis

Warnings: depression, eating disorders, suicide attempts, swear words

* * *

Time ticks slowly onward.

* * *

Gabrielle been staring at the clock for two minutes and ten seconds now, (see?) willing the hands to move faster, for the whole thing to just whiz around two weeks worth of seconds - she would work it out, if she could be bothered.

But she's not.

The hospital is..._white - _it maintains that clinical, professional feel, the sort she wants to escape so desperately.

She knows she must eat - they're watching her intensely to make sure of it - so she picks half-heartedly away at her toast, fully aware that she'll be followed afterwards...to check on whether or not she'll force it back up.

Like she used to.

* * *

It's community-session - a recap of the rules (for the fifty-second time in a row) and a share of their _feelings_.

Most are there for depression or suicidal attempts - some have an eating disorder, a few - like her - possess both, (it's really comforting to know that she's not alone in her instability) and occasionally, they get a person with psychotic tendencies (though they are usually transferred to a place with higher-security).

The asylum - whoops, _Rehabilitation_ _Centre_ - is strictly for wizards, purely because the people there are so insane they could probably let the secret slip without realising, but the place _feels_ muggle.

Because they get their wands taken away upon entry.

As is being explained to them right now - Gabrielle finds her gaze starting to wander, over to the other side of the room...

Over to _him_.

* * *

He's new.

That's the only explanation, because she's never seen him before and it's been...fifty-two days and counting, so he has to be a recent arrival.

Fresh meat.

Oh, he will _break_ there.

Which is irony, since most of them are already broken, like shards of glass, all collectively pooling together at one person's feet, (she always did love long, convoluted similes) too many flaws in each of them to count.

She supposes that he's just another addition to that list.

Doctor Michaels calls 'social time' and Gabrielle considers - just for a minute - approaching him, but decides that it's a risk not worth taking.

* * *

Gabrielle's answers are as short and simple as Dr. Sanderson's questions - it's not that she dislikes talking to him, it's that she dislikes talking to people in _general_.

'How are you?' - '_Fine_.'

'Made any friends?' '_No_.'

'Have your family made any contact?' '_Why would they_?'

Victoire is something of four now, Gabrielle thinks bitterly, the twins only a year or so behind and of course her parents are too busy gushing over what their _perfect_ child created to wonder at all about their _other_ daughter.

The _useless_ one.

It's when he gets to the last question - and it's the same every session - that she really had to stop and consider her answer.

'Do you still feel depressed?'

...

...

...

_'Yes_.'

* * *

"Creevey. Dennis Creevey."

It's probably the first time anyone outside the asylum - _Rehabilitation_ _Centre_ - team has spoken to her in months - so she goes and accidentally-on-purpose screws her response up (because she's never been good at the whole _talking_ thing)

"Did I _ask_ for your name, James Bond?"

It's the new boy.

Of _course_.

He gives a grin - (odd, for a _mental patient, _she thinks) and settles himself beside her on the soft, beige sofa, fluffing up a cushion before placing it behind his back.

"I'm impressed you got the reference. Nobody else here has."

"I'm sorry your wit didn't entertain them."

Oh, isn't she just a stone-hearted _bitch_?

Creevey, Dennis Creevey tilts his head back (she can see his Adam's Apple throb) and chuckles, the sound almost...unfamiliar to her, being that she hasn't heard it in what feels like _months_. Laughter.

* * *

They sit there for a while, in silence. Both trying to fill the uncomfortable gap in the conversation, to just spew some bullshit about dogs and muggle films, or whatever else people their age talked about.

"Pink," he blurts out randomly. "I mean...I like your hair."

Gabrielle lifts a hand to her short, rose-coloured locks, giving a small, almost-subconscious smile (it feels strange on her face). "Thanks."

"Why did you do it?"

Her lips purse together, mentally trying to decide whether or not she can trust him - she lands on the former. "Rebellion. From...my parents."

"I bet they lost their nut."

"My sister went into labour that day," she says without thinking. "They didn't even notice."

He gives a small nod. Like he..._understands_.

* * *

Another therapy session ensues, this time an exercise on 'knowing your triggers.'

Gabrielle is confused - won't _listing_ the things that send off a spark with you do exactly _that_?

But she goes along with it - scratches out her own so-called 'things to avoid' in neat ink, because she doesn't want to seem like she's disobedient. Not here, at least.

_Mother_ -

Or the half-veela. Who taught her that beauty is _everything_, that _Fleur_ got the looks of the family, who moved her to England (tore her away from her life in France) three years ago for no fucking reason.

_Father_ -

A demonstration that men would only be interested in her for her appearance, and even then would sneak off with the neighbour behind her back.

_Fleur_ -

Dear Merlin, especially Fleur. Flawless-yet-intelligent Fleur, the very proof that women could be both, wonderfully, wonderfully skinny Fleur, who didn't have to throw up every time she took a bite of something other than salad.

Her whole family, really.

* * *

Lunch.

Gabrielle's fork distastefully ventures toward the thinly-sliced tomato at the edge of her plate, poking at it like one might do with a sleeping bear, her brain calculating (for she could not break the habit that was ingrained there forever) whether or not she could afford any more calories.

Which is when he joins her.

She nearly jumps three feet in the air, because _nobody_ sits down at her table..._ever_, it's like a rule - don't approach the ice-cold-bitch in the corner, because she'll bite your head off.

But he does it anyway.

"What are _you_ in here for?" Dennis asks, flat-out-ignoring the death-glare she's sending him. "If it's not too personal."

"Why are you sitting here?"

"You interest me." He blinks at her, as though he is innocent of everything - false, of course.

"Foutre le camp." If she said it in English - 'fuck off' - the guards - 'security personnel' - would most likely get involved and she really can't afford that, so she sticks with the French instead.

"You speak French? That's like.._.super-hot_."

* * *

"So, why _are_ you in here, pink-hair girl?"

"Gabrielle," she corrects, then flushes - because she should not have told him her name, most-likely he'll use it to his own advantage.

"They rhyme...sort of."

"Bulimia...depression, self-harm." She lifts up a wrist - plagued by nearly-faded scars to prove her point, as he sucks in a deep breath. "You?"

"Just your average suicide attempt." Dennis shrugs. Mental hospital humour.

The blackest of all.

"Why?"

He started it - the whole awkward, personal questions thing, with the 'why are you in here?' bit - it's only fair she gets one of her own.

"Um..." he scratches the back of his forehead. "Have you ever...like, really loved someone? In a platonic way - like a friend, or a family member?"

She thinks for a minute. "Not..._really_."

* * *

"My brother," Dennis says, before gulping another ton of water down his throat. "He, uh, he died. In the battle."

"I'm - "

"Don't be." He interrupts, cutting off a slice of lasagne. "It's..._fine_."

Gabrielle sets down her own cutlery, half-meeting him in the eye. "No. It's not."

"Maybe." Dennis points to her plate. "You should eat."

"I don't want to," she mumbles, almost under her breath.

"Nobody's looking."

"You are," she points out. "I'm not hungry."

"Seriously? You didn't eat breakfast either."

"You were watching me?"

"You interest me." Dennis repeats, that silly grin still on his face.

* * *

"Um, Gabrielle?"

She looks up from the novel she's reading - Little Women (according to the guidelines, only _happy_ books are allowed) during free-time, to Dennis beside her on the sofa, looking kind of shy, kind of..._whatever_.

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"There's a no-touching policy."

She holds her breath (almost eagerly) for his response, which takes him a few seconds to come up with.

"In the..." he glances up at the clock. "Four hours, fifty-two minutes and thirty-three seconds - yes, I stare at it too - we've known each other, you still haven't realised that I'm not one for the 'rules?'"

"No," Gabrielle says, leaning forward so that her nose brushes his (and she doesn't even care that the security personnel is watching) ever-so-slightly. "No, I guess not."

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter.

Review/request a pairing?


	11. Boggarts - RonHermione

Boggart

Ron/Hermione

Warnings: snogging, swear-words

* * *

It's her.

Not her, not exactly (at least, she thinks it isn't, because she's standing right there...isn't she?), but a pretty damn close copy, everything, even that little beauty spot on her left hand that she can barely see from a couple metres away.

But it can't be, because the real (unless...unless she's fake?) Hermione Granger is outside the DADA classroom, peering through the window at this duplicate-her in wonder, so much so it makes her head dizzy with logic even her brain cannot understand.

What she sees next makes her drop her books in shock.

It appears that twin-Hermione has decided to snog Real-Hermione's best friend, very, very passionately (she thinks she even sees a little bit of tongue in there)

In fact, the only people Hermione has ever seen kissing like that are Ron and Lavender (the very thought of _them_ makes her want to gag), maybe Ginny and Dean.

Hermione wonders what Ginny would say if she walked in on one of her best friends snogging Harry Potter right now.

Except it's not her, it's not and there is no way she would ever kiss Harry (let alone like _that_) because she happens to have feelings for someone else (a very ginger someone else) thank you very much. Harry is like - as cliche as it may seem - a brother to her, nothing more or less.

The whole thing just makes her confused (matters of the heart have never really been her forte). Why is Harry snogging her duplicate? Does he have _feelings_ for her? Does he even know that's not actually Hermione - her?

So she pushes open the door slightly and slips inside to inspect the pair from there.

"Ron?" she whispers, wide eyes looking at the crumpled, haggard heap on the floor in surprise.

He lifts his head slowly, bloodshot eyes meeting hers, lips attempting to quirk into that easy grin he gives everyone (except her nowadays), but failing.

"What is it?" she asks, gesturing towards the obscene image in front of them.

"Boggart." he croaks, pushing himself up off of the floor.

"Aren't you going to get rid of it?"

"Can't." His tone is raw with sorrow and all Hermione wants to do is go over there and give him hug - but she's - and it's -

He's dating Lavender.

"I thought it was spiders?" Hermione questions shakily, pulse quickening a little bit as she fiddles with her fingers, picking away at the chipped nail polish.

"Not anymore."

What the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean? Not _anymore_?

"Why - why did it change?"

She can barely look at him as she asks the question, refusing to believe that it could ever be -

"You're a smart girl, Hermione, why don't you try and figure it out?" he mumbles.

Silence.

"You're madly in love with _Harry_?" It's not - it couldn't be the _other_ option. The one she kind-of-maybe-sort-of wishes it was. No. No. _Lavender_.

For a moment his lips upturn into the briefest of smiles, before drooping again.

"Guess again." he tells her bitterly, before pushing open the door and walking out on her.

The Boggart transforms.

She sits there, sobs wracking her chest as she listens to _her_ Boggart (it's changed, just like Ron's has) talk directly to her, as that perfect, perfect smile twists into a cruel smirk, as he utters those four words nobody wants to hear, ever.

"I don't love you." Ron says to her.

And Hermione Granger's heart _breaks_.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter.

Review/request?


	12. Fight - FredAngelina

**Fight**

Angelina/Fred

Warnings: swear words, kissing, violence.

* * *

"Is it really _that_ hard to knock me out, boys?" Fred drawls - as though he isn't in massive amounts of searing, burning pain right now - quite casually, turning his head as Marcus Flint connects another fist with his jaw. "Honestly, the amount of fuss you create over me merely _suggesting_ that an _all-male_ Quidditch team is..."

An attempt at a grin - if his lip weren't split, he would manage it. "Well, you know..."

"I'll kill you, Mudblood!"

"Honestly Flint, check the History books, my blood is purer than _yours_. Or does being a half-blood illegitimate bastard not count when you're a _Slytherin_?" He really wishes he could wipe his face - it's practically covered in Marcus' sweat and spit (Merlin, he feels disgusting) but his hands are being held back by some other boy - some lackey of his opponents.

Another punch.

"Now that's going to leave a bruise." he remarks, sinking to his knees. "Oh, and you're going to go for the wand as well? _Okay_ then."

"Put the wand down, you prick." Fred almost smiles (then winces at the sensation) when he hears the voice - it's her - of course it is, he knew she would come through.

She always does.

Marcus just jabs it further towards Fred's head, practically poking it in his ear, the bloody nuisance - but now, he's far more interested in what she has to say.

"Why does nobody ever listen to me?" Angelina mutters, pulling her wand out of her pocket and casting a simple non-verbal that sends both boys (and the random one on the side...just watching - yeah, Fred isn't sure about that one either) backwards through the air, landing in a heap by the wall.

"Good aim, Johnson!"

"You," she says, sending a finger flying in his direction, "shut the fuck up. I'm mad at you."

"Aren't we - "

"_God_, Flint," Angelina interrupts, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Don't you ever learn how to be quiet? Do you want me to curse you _again_?"

He mumbles something that sounds strangely like 'PMS.' Fred predicts what's going to happen before it happens - Marcus, ending up slumped sideways, very much unconscious.

And Fred simply can't help (even if it hurts like hell) but beam.

* * *

"Here," she tosses him a small pot of something. "It'll help with the bruises."

"Why must you know _everything_?"

"Why must _you_ continue to be a jackass, then rely on _me_ to come and save you?"

He pauses and pretends to think - unable to come up with a witty response. "Good point."

Angelina runs a frustrated hand through her hair, letting a small sigh escape from her lips - where he can't help but _look_. "You'll get yourself _murdered_ Fred."

"I _won't_," he promises numbly - trying to ignore that...thing in his brain that's secretly delighted she actually _cares_ about him. "That's not going to happen, Angie."

"One of these days," she flicks her head back to look at him - like pity mixed with anxiety. "I'm not going to be around - and you're going to make a smart-arse remark and you'll get hurt - "

He points to his black-and-blue face, smiling a little.

"Seriously hurt. And," she swallows. "It's going to be all my fault."

"No it's _not_." Fred rolls his eyes and swats her arm playfully. "When I...'slip through the veil' it'll be _my_ fault, not yours." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Just...avenge my death, would you?"

She pushes him away from her (as gently as possible, he is injured after all) and grins when he acts wounded.

"You're amazing." He tells her, somewhat-serious. "Did you know that?"

"Of course."

* * *

"I cannot _believe_ you!"

"What's wrong?"

She blinks. Once, twice, then again. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me? You got yourself _kicked_ _off_ the team! You swore to me you'd never get into another fight!"

"I don't recall explicitly _saying_ - " he begins, but is cut off.

"How _could_ you?"

"I didn't even get into the fight!" Fred argues - knowing he'll probably be defeated, but sticking to his guns. "It was Harry and George, actually - "

"You should have stopped them!" Angelina takes a deep breath. "You got involved as well - it was only because you were held back - "

"I'm the one who got kicked out of the team, why are _you_ mad?"

"Because I'm the captain that's about to be humiliated in the Cup - "

He could almost chuckle at that. "Angie, you could never be _humiliated_. You're bloody _brilliant_ - and anyone that doesn't recognise it is an idiot."

When she grabs his mouth and plants it against her own, it's a sort-of surprise, because he's seen this coming (or hoping for it) for months, wondering if a girl spending the whole of Charms staring at you is good or bad, seen the little flash within her eyes (and I'm-so-embarrassed-but-I-don't-want-to-show-it-nod) whenever he sends a flirtatious wink her way.

His fingers tug at her hair, _her_ fingers clutching at his collar as he spins them both around, so that her back is pressed against the nearest (conveniently close, he thinks blindly) wall - which is about when it hits her that she is _kissing Fred Weasley_ and draws away, her face taking on a _did-I-**really**-just-do-that_? expression.

A glare - as if it somehow his fault (after all, she kissed _him_) and a swipe at his arm to show that she is not happy - not at _all_. "Tell anyone, Weasley, and you're _dead_."

"Gotcha, Johnson!" Fred calls as she marches through the corridors, mock-salute to top it off. "Not a word, I swear!"

Merlin, _how_ big is the grin on his face?

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

Thanks to TheJesusFreak777 for requesting, I hope you enjoyed! : )


	13. Watching - AndrewKirke?

Watching

Andrew Kirke/?

Warnings: alcoholism, death, HBP spoilers

* * *

He's watching her again.

Watching as she sits down on the far end of Gryffindor table. She's been drinking again, he can tell, from the dark rings around her eyes and the way she frowns, trying to un-blur her eyes as she shakes the dark curls off her face.

It's a bad habit, he knows and he wishes he could help but it's because of _that_ night that she is like this and it's because of _that_ night Andrew Kirke physically _can't_.

Then Dumbledore dies.

There's a war on and everyone already knew it, but it was forgotten amidst all the parties and snogging and gossip but when Dumbledore dies it's there, like a bad smell.

Dumbledore, their great, invincible leader is _dead_.

Panic ensues and he can tell that this is not going to be good for her, or anyone, but especially her.

She goes missing for the last few days of term and he's worried because she is just fifteen, the same age as him and she could be anywhere, she could be just like Dumbledore, stone-cold and glassy-eyed.

Merlin, he wishes that isn't true.

Then his summer is spent in hiding, hiding because his mother married a muggleborn - which makes them blood-traitors (it's not like he _asked_ to be born) and therefore targets.

Which is stupid, because he is the _worst_ person to seek out (on purpose) ever, scrawny, _weak_ - about as gullible as a con man in love (he always finds that similar sad, for some reason) and really, really easy to catch.

Who would gain Death-Eater points (he can just imagine You-Know-Who handing out smiley-face stickers at each of their meetings) for killing _Andrew-fucking_-_Kirke_?

* * *

So they all hide (him, his mother, his father, his father's parents and his grandmother - her father never supported her decision), hide away in a house protected by the Fidelius (protected by Alastor Moody, his mother is sure that he will never, ever betray them).

They are bored, stuck there in their little home in Dorset, cooped up with those nice beige armchairs and neatly-ordered cutlery, their

After about a hundred games of wizard chess, his father snaps. He tells Rosalind (Andrew's mother) that he wants to be out there, out there on the front lines, killing Death Eaters and protecting them all, because he is a muggleborn and this is his war and he is a _man_.

Oh, _his dad_. Defying gender roles and stereotypes every single day, _that's_ Jason Kirke.

Then Rosalind slaps him for being sexist, and tears running down her cheeks, tells him that if he is going, she's going with him.

Even his parents, his ninety-two (forty-six) year old parents are still in love and it's...pretty sickening to watch.

He might never see them again.

So when Andrew sits there, watching another Disney movie with his muggle grandparents and Pureblood grandmother - who has only recently been introduced to the concept - he finds himself disgusted when all he can think about is _her_.

But then, he thinks about Albus Dumbledore.

Because, really, this is all _his_ fault.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter, or Disney.

Review/request?


	14. Perfection - SiriusJames

**Perfection**

Sirius/James

Warnings: so-implied-it's-not-implied slash, swear words

* * *

You're a little broken on the inside.

It's not your fault, (not entirely, though truth be told, you share some of the blame) - other people have been slowly chipping away at your soul since the day you were born, refusing to let you be _happy_.

To smile, to laugh, to sing with joy or whatever the fuck those muggle-fictional-characters do when their life isn't as screwed up as yours.

You're Sirius Black and you're an apple-juice drinking, family-hating _rebel_.

* * *

James is different.

No, Prongs is...nice-ish, (in that incredibly arrogant way) not exactly _law-abiding_, but sure does he know when _not_ to cross the goddamn line.

You never learned.

James is kind-of-maybe perfect and you're pretty much the opposite.

Smart, handsome, (god, did you really just say that?) rich - not that it matters...much - brave, yeah, that about sums him up.

Because all these people paint you as the cocky one, the one who denies his flaws and you _don't_.

You might not show it - but you're dreadfully, dreadfully _insecure_.

* * *

But he doesn't make you feel like that.

Not really - sometimes you feel a bit...inferior (does that make sense?) in his presence (because in comparison to him...you're, well, a piece of _shit) _it's hard to explain - it's like, despite what you've been told your whole life, you're worth _something_.

Yeah, that's it. Prongs takes away that sense of worthlessness that's been following you around like a bad smell for the past sixteen years.

When he says your name, it's as if he actually _cares_. About you. Which, you've found - feels kind-of good.

If you pull pranks, you're 'hilarious' not 'immature' and even if he rolls his eyes - you know that it's not _meant_ to hurt you, his insults are teasing, not cruel and somehow...around him, you get this strange sense of _relevance_.

Like you actually matter.

You don't think you would smile if you didn't have the Marauders.

* * *

If you didn't have Prongs - because they say you should keep around the things (except he's not a thing, he's a human-being) that take away your troubles and honestly, he does.

In fact, you can't remember the last time you thought of your family (except they're not, not really) when you were with him. The last time that horrible, soul-sucking group of monsters crossed your mind when the two of you were together.

He helps you to forget and that's the best thing anyone could ever do.

* * *

Remus and Peter - they're friends, but James - _James_ is your _soulmate_.

As in, you don't want to be without him.

Sometimes he eats too much, sometimes he's too irresponsible, a little too sarcastic, sassy, a little too philosophical - but that's _okay_.

Because you've realised (and this is where you know the true definition of _love) _that James isn't _flawless_.

(yeah, you might have romanticised him a tad)

No, he's not - he's like you - just a tiny bit broken.

The point being, you don't give a fuck.

You're still best-friends (maybe something more, you hope...someday) and that, _that_, Sirius Black is the closest you'll ever get to perfection.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

Thanks to **Intes1ty** for reviewing, (I don't know how I missed you out when you reviewed, but I did and I apologise) I'm glad you enjoyed : )

Thanks to **Kazo Sakamari** for requesting (and reviewing my other stories). I get what you mean about Bellatrix. I think that's why she's one of my favourite characters to write - because she's so complex and difficult to understand.

Ironically, Andromeda _is_ my favourite Black sister, but I thought it would be cool to have a different perspective on her.

The whole Sirius/James thing from **Cokeworth** was actually a mistake, because I was going to make it into a multi chapter but then I decided to just post it as a oneshot instead. It's a subtle reference to one of my other multi-chapter stories and to my own head canon.

I hope you enjoyed this!


	15. Unloved - TerryPadma

Unloved

Terry/Padma

Warnings: swear words, drinking

* * *

He misses her.

Not like 'we broke up, I'm kind-of bummed' misses her, but _misses_ her. As in: he's made a massive, massive mistake in letting her walk away.

Except he's only realising it now.

Did he _ever_ deserve Padma?

Probably not.

The worst of it is at night. When he has to sleep without someone in his arms, how he wakes - alone. Or maybe it's the fact that Valentine's Day is just around the corner and he's stuck wistfully gazing at the heart-shaped balloons, wondering what might have been.

Why is he always rejected? Is there something wrong with him?

Terry's not a bad-looking (sure, he's no Cormac McLaggen) guy, and he's certainly not lacking in the _brain_ department.

But Padma - Padma, she's about ten million times better than him. He's smart - she's smarter, he's attractive, she's bloody flipping _gorgeous_ and of-fucking-course that means she gets taken away.

Not even a wizard, no, some muggle, (and not that it's ever mattered, until now) some richer, better man that can do more for her than he ever could - than can treat Padma _right_.

* * *

Terry Boot doesn't end up with the girl.

Terry Boot gets the girl, has one brief moment of happiness, then loses her and spends the rest of the week drinking Firewhisky and listening to sad music on the Wizarding Wireless.

Because he remembers that _euphoria_ when she finally said the word - '_yes_' and that _spark_ when they first kissed and now...well, now it's all gone.

Did she mean those three little words? Or was it just another of her _lies_? Like 'I'll stay with you forever' and 'until the end of the time.'

He's pretty sure that the 'end of time' _isn't_ at age twenty-seven.

Maybe she'll come back to him. She's done it before, run off with a stranger, only to arrive barely three days later, tears streaming down her face - '_I've made a mistake, Terry. A terrible, terrible mistake_.' Except it's _been_ three days - it's been two weeks and a half and he hasn't heard a word. Not a single word.

It's like she's just disappeared out of his life - forever.

* * *

He knows it's clingy and desperate, but he goes to see Parvati.

Parvati always liked him, or at least she said she did - but now...she seems fairly distant. Apologetic, sure, but unattached, like he's some kind of burden that she doesn't want to deal with.

"_She's not here," _she tells him, before hesitating. "_She's with...Mike_."

Mike. Her new _squeeze_. Wealthy, _doctor_ Mike, as Parvati's man of the hour informs him. Brilliant, sparkling _Mike_, with the witty conversation and the _Rolex_ watch.

Which is absolutely _great_ for her, isn't it? Perfect, even. Terry's glad to know that while he's stuck drinking himself to death and crying his eyes out, _Padma_ has found the greatest person alive to spend her free time fucking.

It's when he goes home that he realises where he's heard that voice, the voice Parvati used, before.

Telling the family of the victims in the battle. Before he informs someone that _no_, they aren't applicable for a loan (Merlin, his jobs sucks). In _her_ own tone, right before she broke up with him.

It's pity.

* * *

Well, maybe that's how life turns out. Hopeless. Unsatisfying.

Because nothing good could _ever_ happen to him, right?

He's Terry Boot for fuck's sake, nobody even _notices_ him, let alone cares about him enough to stick around for longer than six months and three days, (he works it out one day, whilst missing her) to stay with him until 'death do they part,' to maybe _not_ go around with some muggle behind his back.

Other people will have it all - live it all, get everything they want and him - well, he's just...

Pathetic.

Unwanted.

_Unloved_.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter, or Rolex.

Reviews/requests?


	16. Eventually - TedAndromeda

Eventually

Ted/Andromeda

Warnings: swear words, fairly-mild violence, sexual references

* * *

"You're leaving."

It's an accusation - a mixture of weariness (well, Andromeda reasons, it is four in the morning) and anger - Narcissa isn't a fool, she knows all too well what her sister is up to.

"Yeah." An apology in all but the word 'sorry.' Because, out of all of them, Andromeda will miss her little sister the most - the little sister she'll probably never speak to again, after she's gone.

"Where is _he_?" Of course, they both know who _He_ refers to - the most common source of debate between the pair. "Is he in the house?"

As if on cue, Ted materialises out of seemingly-nothing, lugging a frill-adorned (their mother always _did_ like to enforce gender stereotypes) suitcase down the stairs. "Andromeda are you ready to - "

He nearly drops the thing when he sees Narcissa. "Shit." A nervous glance between the two sisters. "Andromeda?"

"I can't let you do this."

Narcissa's dainty-pink little mouth is open before either can stop the unmistakable cry of '_Bellatrix_!' Ted grabbing his girlfriend by the hand and leading her through the hallway (even though he has absolutely no idea where he is going).

"Andy?"

Fuck.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

His first reaction is to pull out his wand - because he's heard all of the stories on Bellatrix Black and a grand total of _none_ of them give the impression she'll go easy on the rebel-Mudblood shagging her sister.

Except 'shagging' kind of underplays the whole thing. More...'in love,' but he hasn't told her that yet - he's biding his time, waiting - in fact, he's pretty amazed she agreed to _this_ whole thing in the first place.

Running away with him. Leaving her parents, her fancy home, to live in a pretty-cramped, cluttered flat that needs a neat-freak like her to clear it up. To step out of one life and enter the next - a one with him in it.

Them waking up together (he doesn't even mind that she hogs the bedsheets). Holding hands. Sitting by the fireplace on frosty December nights, with only each other and a cup of hot chocolate for warmth. A white, white wedding. Growing old and wrinkled and not caring in the slightest. A flock of children buzzing around, that he claims to annoy him, but doesn't.

That's what he wants to have.

Those ruby-red lips (the sort that could only belong to a cold-blooded killer) set into a deep frown, head cocked to the side in a contemplative manner. "Who are you?"

Andromeda's eyes almost _plead_ with him not to say anything. Which is looking like the best option, so Ted follows her sort-of-advice and shuts the hell up.

"Narcissa?"

Though they're quite a few feet away, he can still read the way her mouth moves into the word he's heard so many times before, the way her bottom-lip curls when she forces it out - '_Mudblood_.'

Of course, Bellatrix is able to understand _that_.

"Why are you here?" Her voice is still relatively calm, but he catches the slight shrill on the last word, as her gaze drop to his hands, which are still wrapped around Andromeda's.

"Apparate." he hisses out into the near-darkness, somewhere within the proximity of her ear. "Come on, let's go."

"I can't," she whispers back, suddenly-stricken. "I left another bag upstairs."

Yeah, they're definitely, definitely screwed. Maybe it'll be a whole Romeo-and-Juliet type thing, dying in each others arms, all at the hands of her disapproving, slightly-messed-up (if you could class it as _slightly_) family.

"Didn't you hear me?" Bellatrix fumbles around in her robe for something distinctly stick-shaped and ominous-looking. "I said, _why are you here_?"

Oh, there was some definite anger in _that_.

"Run," Ted tells Andromeda, keeping his own wand firmly trained upon his opponent's. "Go, I'll keep her busy."

He only turns his head for a fraction of a second to watch those feet flurry up another flight of stairs, but by then she has already sent the first curse - which he manages to dodge just before it hits.

"What are you doing with my sister?" Another flick of the wand - a stunning spell, he thinks it is - that is quickly deflected by his own.

"I thought you were _smart_?" A bold move, he knows, but then - when has he _ever_ been shy? "Come _on_, Black, you haven't guessed by now?"

Her face pales as she comprehends the situation - practically jamming her wand as she fires another curse his way. "You're going to _die_!"

"Eventually." Joking with Bellatrix Black - not a good idea, under _any_ circumstances. "Was that the crucio? Learnt that from the _Dark Lord_?"

"You dare - " But her spell goes spiralling out of control, flying over his shoulder, right towards the nearest object -

"_Jesus Christ_." Ted grabs Andromeda's arm just in time, tugging her towards him and shielding her with his body, so she can't be hit again - because that's his top priority. "You injured?"

A tiny (almost imperceptible) shake of the head, before her dark-brown eyes settle on her sisters. "Give my _love_ to mother and father."

"Are you really going to do this? Abandon us?" Narcissa steps out from behind Bellatrix, her face contorting into a sneer. "Your family?"

He thinks he sees something of guilt flash through Andromeda, before she gives a sad smile and passes him the rest of her bags. "You're _not_ my family."

Then she takes his hand (with a reassuring squeeze, to help him along) once more and they both disappear into the black.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

For **Guest**, as per request, I hope you enjoyed it and I will be posting the Remus/Tonks oneshot very, very soon. Thanks!


	17. Scars - RemusTonks

**Scars**

RemusTonks

Warnings: ... one swear word. _One_.

* * *

It's not his eyes.

You have this picture - of him and you, his arm thrown loosely around your shoulder (he has no idea how much that meant to you at the time) where he's just looking at the camera and then he _winks_.

And you pretty much die inside.

Because that shade of green should be _illegal_. Seriously. It doesn't help that he's the most photogenic person _ever_, while you're usually stuck trying to whip the hair out of your face, or awkwardly squinting in the sunlight.

You can't even _wink_ without making it look awkward, or creepy, or fucked-up, not badass and suave like he does.

But it's not them - because out of all the things you could choose, his _eyes_ seem a little cliche.

* * *

It's not his smile.

When you get to see it at least - because Remus Lupin isn't a particularly smiley person, but you do catch a glimpse occasionally, if Sirius says something funny.

That sweet, totally non-judgemental beam, just the corners of his mouth lifting up ever so slightly, the one that somehow makes you grin too.

It's kind of like a reminder - that even though there's a war going on, (and you're both probably going to die...ever the optimist) there's still _some_ source of joy out there.

Even if it is only a man's slightly-awkward smile.

Except that _isn't_ why, for no excuse other than you can think of a dozen reasons better.

* * *

It's not his fashion sense.

Because you love that, you really do - how misshapen and messy the clothes he wears are, how the words '_seriously? You looked at that and decided it was a good idea_?' spring to mind whenever you see him.

It's adorable and endearing, and it nearly-always makes you snort with laughter.

And argyle sweaters most definitely _do not_ suit him.

You aren't a particularly cruel (or shallow) person though, so his 'fashion quality' doesn't _quite_ make the top of the list.

* * *

It isn't how smart he is.

Like seriously - _Ravenclaw_ smart. You made it as an _auror_ and you still don't have Remus' intelligence. Or how sensible he is - which can be a bit of a buzzkill, but you don't mind (not really).

Remus Lupin could probably kill a man without blinking. But he wouldn't (well, _maybe_ in battle) because he's so _nice_. _Hufflepuff_ nice.

Merlin, you need to stop that.

But it's not - because sometimes (you know you're being a _little_ picky) hecan come off as _slightly_ pretentious.

It's not a big deal though.

* * *

It's the scars.

The long scratches that make him _him_, that remind you he is so terribly brave and strong - how he faces _that_ once every month, which you sure as hell couldn't do.

They are a part of him - an everlasting mark, they represent permanence, which you - with your _gift_ (more like a curse, you think occasionally) have come to appreciate as being an awfully wonderful thing.

That he - you, all of you - are mortal and will someday come to die, but you don't recognise the melancholia (ever the optimist, remember?) and choose to view the poetic aspect - you are people and it is _amazing_.

Yes, you break and you fall and you crumple - but at the end of the day, you are still there, still remaining and you kind of _love_ the whole artistic beauty - as individuals, you fade out, like stars in the sky, but as one, giant race, you'll never die out.

Rugged and worse-for-wear, they map his body like a patchwork quilt, tiny little flaws that are unnoticed amidst something beautiful.

Something Remus.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

Thanks again to **Guest** for requesting, and to **lbbonray** for the review - GeorgeLee will be up soon, I promise!

Review/request?


	18. Trouble - GeorgeLee

Trouble

George/Lee

Warnings: swear words...slash (well, duh)

* * *

It's when he realises that he's falling for his best friend that Lee _knows_ he's in trouble.

He finds himself wondering _why_ - because George isn't particularly attractive, or special, (which is a little harsh, but true) just...well, George Weasley - but then, it's not as if that's not a wonderful thing to be.

_One_ of his best friends at least - Merlin knows what _Fred_ would say if it were _him_ - except for that very-very-glaring problem - George views him as a brother from another mother.

And, quite frankly, Lee isn't down for incest.

He spends pretty much the whole of Christmas break trying not to think of George, or George naked, or George saying just about anything with implications (but then, 'do you want help with that?' isn't _really_ a signal whether or not someone is into you...).

It's...hard, (and if George _were_ around, he would make an innuendo-type remark) to say the least.

Because Lee's brain jumps from anything and everything to...one half of the Weasley twins (or-the-not-quite-evil-he-who-shall-not-be-named.

Trains-Hogwarts-Him.

Jam-Blackberries-Strawberries-people who happen to love Strawberries-Him

It's like a _really_ fucked up game of word association.

He wishes he could say his life sucks, but the problem is (and this is where the whole shitty Gryffindor morality comes into motion)...he knows, Merlin knows, _everybody_ knows that it _could_ be worse.

* * *

When he comes back to school, he gets paranoid. Like, '_is that flirting or friendly conversation_?' '_why is George touching her arm_?'

Oh, wouldn't it be hi-fucking-larious if he was in love with Angelina? His brother's girl - sounds like a song (or some Rick Springfield parody) one of those lazily-written, energetic modern pop songs that they play on the Wizarding Wireless all the time.

There's a poem - Lee thinks, that sums up...their situation pretty accurately - the domino effect, where nobody is happy, because he fancies George (huh, guess he just admitted it) and George fancies Angelina, who is in a - very much reciprocal - relationship with Fred (since when did life turn into a soap opera?)

Yeah, he remembers the last line now 'and to whom it happens, it will break his heart in two.'

Well, he guesses he should have listened to Heinrich Heine when he had the chance.

* * *

"How was your holiday?" Lee aims the question _specifically_ at both of the twins - so it's not as uncomfortable, but Fred still gives that little knowing smile, that kind of makes him freak out...a lot.

"Good." George answers, fiddling with the zip on his suitcase. "Yours?"

"Uh...yeah, fine." It's probably the most generic answer ever - but he really can't help it. "Better than Umbitch any day."

Cue an exchange of dark looks - the sort that say 'we're taking that she-demon down, no matter what.'

Which is immediately followed by an _incredibly_ awkward silence - a rarity for the trio usually filled with...noise.

"I'm going to go check on Angelina." Fred announces, standing up (and nearly knocking over Lee's flask of pumpkin juice in the process). "I'll leave you two - " a wide grin that could only be described as 'trouble.' "to flirt in my absence."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A nervous giggle escapes his lips - because, seriously, what else can he do? Playing it off seems like the best option.

"Yeah, I'd better go too." George says abruptly, picking up his stuff and leaving.

Oh, Lee is going to _murder_ Fred.

* * *

"That wasn't cool, man."

Fred tosses another grape into his mouth carelessly, while barely glancing at Lee. "What?"

"You know."

Comprehension dawns on his face. "Oh, _that_. It was just a joke."

The devil (in metaphorical terms - George is about as far off from Satan as one can get) himself approaches the table, sliding into the chair dangerously close to his.

"Forge!" Fred claps him on the back eagerly. "We were just talking about you."

"All good, I hope."

"Definitely." Which is, of course, accompanied by a secretive little wink in Lee's direction - who will, most likely, never show his face again. Ever.

* * *

"What are we doing?" George mutters against his lips. It's a chuckle, sort-of, not-really, because there seems to be a lack of humour behind it, more of a genuine question - to which Lee has no idea of the answer. What _are_ they doing?

Well, _kissing_.

"I don't know." Honesty is the best policy - that's what they all say, but sometimes a lie can mask the wound - and acting innocent, Lee supposes, is probably his greatest option. "Is this alright?"

George gives a combination of a shrug, a nod, a shake of the head and an eye-roll (not in the sarcastic sense - as if to look to the heavens, the sort his face takes on when he's deep in thought).

A pause, where Lee, quite elegantly, he would say, _removes_ himself.

"No, wait..." that moment where brief, glimmering hope strikes him in the gut. "Yeah, okay."

It's not an 'I love you' not a 'will you marry me?' (they're eighteen, for fuck's sake) but it is consent, maybe to a life with Lee in it, maybe just to a fleeting minute in time where they are _LeeandGeorge_ and either way is - perfectly oKay - possibly even without the latter word tossed on as a careless afterthought - just perfect, he would prefer.

* * *

And then Lee wakes up.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

**A/N**: This is for **lbbonray**, thanks for the review (also for Paint On That Mask as well)/request - Lavender/Firenze will be posted shortly.

Oh, and thanks to Guest for the kind review as well! : )


	19. Pretty - LavenderFirenze

Pretty

Lavender/Firenze

Warnings: implied bestiality, teacher/student, swear words

* * *

Lavender isn't _naturally_ pretty. She doesn't wake up with her hair neatly-shaped around her face, pores invisible and lips that perfect shade of red, like Parvati - no, like with everything else, she has to _work_ for it.

Up at the crack of dawn, painting on her face like it's some kind of easel and that eyebrow-pencil is her brush, because _today_, she tells herself, _today will be the day someone tells her she looks good_. Not, '_okay_,' not '_oh did you lose some weight_?' but an actual compliment - _'you're beautiful_.'

It's kind-of shallow, but she tried the whole intelligence thing and no way did _that_ work out, so she relies on her looks to feel...well, special.

Like she's not second-best to an obviously-better-looking Indian friend, like she absolutely did not put on three pounds over the summer, like she _matters_.

Nobody ever bothers to think of her and goddamnit, it _stings_.

Because she's the fucking airhead, isn't she? The useless one. The one just there to smile and wave, and fuck a bunch of strangers, because that's the only thing she'll ever be good for. The one who everyone is jealous of - but they have no idea what it's like, being her.

It's his comment that sparks it off.

* * *

'_I like your headband, Lavender_.'

And Merlin, she feels like crying, because that's the nicest thing anyone's said to her in _months_. It's not backhanded, or designed to leave her totally confused over whether or not she's just been insulted or complimented.

He's the only person who noticed it too, the pink, frilly thing she bought down at Hogsmeade but was too afraid to wear because...well, it's _girly_.

Everyone knows that being a rebel, black-wearing outcast is the craze nowadays (even if it doesn't win you many friends).

A misunderstood, so-broken-it-hurts girl, the misfit, the sort that the popular boy falls for in an attempt to piss off both his friends and his parents.

That's not who Lavender is - but maybe it doesn't matter.

...

...

Not anymore.

* * *

It's a fervent affair, like she's read in the books, (the sort Parvati smuggles into the dormitory and they giggle over at eleven at night) hurried, secretive but still terribly exciting.

Wrong too, yes, she knows it's wrong, but she - _they_ could do worse things in the world they live in. Murder, for one.

Is _love_ really so illicit? So inappropriate, too much to be considered _right_, like all other kinds?

Because Firenze isn't like all the boys in her class. He's innocent, not like her - no, if they are discovered she will confess that she is the perpetrator, because she is. He is just the ever-willing participant in their liaison, too noble for his own good.

Winks, hidden notes and stolen kisses sums up their relationship - and it thrills her to the core. Little-miss-goody-two-shoes-perfect-Lavender is finally doing something bad - it nearly makes her wish she could tell people, just to see their reaction.

Oh, to be star-crossed and blissfully peaceful in it.

* * *

Lavender blinks herself awake and in doing so, almost drops her quill, prompting a (well, so she thinks) worried glance from Firenze at the front of the class.

_He'll love her back one day_, she tells herself, _he has to_.

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter

Music: Don't Stand So Close To Me

A/N: thanks to **lbbonray** for requesting, I hope you enjoyed. Any other reviews/requests are welcome!


	20. Do you care? - ArthurMolly

**Do** **You Care?**

Molly/Arthur

Warnings: mild language

* * *

His legs are the first thing she notices about him. Not his eyes - grey at first glance, then after a close-up view, they're revealed to be blue - or his hair - as ginger as one could get, even more so than her own - but his legs. Long, shapely, just perfect for running.

Which is what she does best, Molly Prewett, run. Not in the cowardly sense (she's as Gryffindor as they come), no, but actual physical running, sprinting through grass as though she could fly, feeling the wind whip through her, only exciting her further.

She notices his legs, because by chance, they accidentally kick her feet during the very first Charms lessons they have together, in first year, the first day of term. She turns, all prepared to rant and rave (because that's just what Molly Prewett does), but after hearing the soft mumble of 'sorry,' she somehow, _somehow_ changes her mind and just smiles at him.

Thus, a friendship is born.

* * *

People tease her about it, with their little chants of: 'Molly and Arthur sitting in a tree doing things that twelve year olds shouldn't be doing' or_something_ along those lines, after all having a boy for a best friend is _completely_ abnormal and should always be stopped (her class never really gets sarcasm). Especially her brothers, who say 'they're already planning the wedding' but her firm reassurance of 'Arthur and I are just_friends_' usually sets them back on track.

He can be a bit exasperating at times, constantly talking about muggles and ekeltrisky and whatnot until the cows come home, but for some reason she likes the look in his eyes when he does it - when they're all bright and shiny, like there's nothing else in the world apart from the fellytone and the terror-vision (honestly, she thinks to herself, those muggles are insane).

They're complete polar opposites, they are, he's far too shy, she's far too bossy - but that's okay, because it means she stands up for him and he quiets her down - he's stick-thin, she's insecure about her weight (entirely Amy Mobb's fault), he wouldn't say boo to a goose, she would hex someone into the hospital wing and back.

Yet they still get along.

Sometimes she gets annoyed, just by how _nice_ Arthur is. Like when she gets that horrible tomboy haircut in third year and all he tells her is 'you look great,' when she _doesn't_, she looks absolutely _hideous_ and why is _Arthur_ the only one who can't see that?

When the Slytherins hex him, the only spells he uses are defence ones (even though she teaches him some really good, _really_ painful ones) and stutters his way out of an argument and it's pathetic, but strangely endearing to watch.

He's like a lost duckling, like the ugly one, the muggle tale that her brothers used to tell to her when she was little - Arthur would probably love it just for that value, but then something strange happens.

He turns into a swan.

* * *

Molly doesn't know when exactly it happens - perhaps the people on her class were right - or why she starts...developing feelings for her best friend, but she does.

It's not like he changes or anything, he's still that dorky, muggle-loving ginger she hangs out with (pretty much all the time), but for some weird, odd, completely, totally _mad_ reason he's _better_. Funnier. Smarter. Even more attractive, which she _knows_ sounds stupid and creepy, but it's true.

Except he's so utterly _oblivious_ to the world around him that he doesn't see the letters M and W scrawled into the back of a certain someone's Charms textbook, he doesn't see the effort Molly Prewett begins to make with her hair, and her clothes, and even make-up (which she had previously sworn off ever using), not like the other boys do.

And it's not like she can just ask him out, they live in the age of arranged marriages for Merlin's sake! She's never been the good little 1960s housewife, but this is something different. It's insane, that she's acting like this, bossy little madam Molly Prewett turned into a stuttering wreck, around her _best friend_. Sad, really, she thinks to herself - that she can't do anything for _herself_ anymore.

Which is when she realises she's acting like a total damsel in distress - just like Amy Mobbs and all the other peroxide-haired, short-skirted, blue-eyed girls on the world, and for the first time in her life, Molly Prewett hates herself.

* * *

So she forgets (the biggest lie she's ever told) about Arthur Weasley, which is hard to do, considering he's her best friend, moves on with her life. Studies more, gets 7 Outstanding grades in her OWLS - even though she has no idea what she wants to do with herself after Hogwarts.

Stays friends with him, of course, it would look strange if she just ditched him for no reason whatsoever, but casually plots a drifting-apart storyline, spending less and less time with him every day.

Yep, she's totally (not) over him.

Then she gets asked out.

Tyler Barnett is a completely random occurrence that nobody could have predicted, probably due to the fact that before he asks her out, Molly had never spoken to him in her life.

Of course, she hears of him from time to time, Tyler happened to be _that_ guy within her circle of friends - the one that is always referenced in conversation ('the funniest thing happened with Tyler the other day' 'so Tyler and Abigail Harding are dating!') but never actually appears - which leads Molly to believe he is, in fact, a _myth_, like King Arthur, or the good Slytherin, until quite casually, one afternoon, he wanders up to her in Charms and asks her to Hogsmeade, very much out of the blue.

Molly is about to turn him down (politely, even, a rare matter for her), before she realises.

Why can't she go out and have fun? Because of Arthur? Isn't that the stereotype she hates most of all? The romantically-bound, self-sacrificing doormat who only exists as a love interest to a man?

"Yes," she tells Tyler, plastic grin spread across her face, "bring chocolate."

So she goes, and the chocolate is _good_ - better than Arthur could have bought (though she regrets the words as soon as she thinks them, because since when has she cared about money?) all gooey on the inside, which, unfortunately, is not how she feels with Tyler, but hey, she's not expecting to marry him right?

She accepts when he asks her to be his girlfriend, because he's nice and he has a cute grin (not as cute as a certain ginger's) and he is that easy-going, entirely uncomplicated Hufflepuff guy that every girl looks for on the rebound.

But he's not _him_.

* * *

"I..." Arthur stutters, taking precision with his words as she stands there, hand on hip, refusing to listen to what he has to say. "I...don't think he's right for you."

Ignoring the feeling (that immeasurable, indescribable feeling she loathes so much) inside at his words, she pulls her arm away and just_stares_because_ how fucking dare he _just stand there for six months, refusing to do or say anything about her relationship and then suddenly just show up in the middle of the summer, thinking he can boss_ Molly Prewett_ around, tell _her_ what to do with her love life?

He had his chance and he blew it, a long time ago, when he let her go of with someone else, let her abandon their six-year long friendship without any qualms, let her slip from his grasp.

He's supposed to be the knight in shining armour, not the coward in sheep's clothing.

"Why, Arthur?" she pleads, looking into his eyes, trying to settle the rage stirring in her stomach, boiling and bubbling, brewing and mixing with something else, something she swore off a long time ago. "Why not?"

"Because." he mutters.

She swings the door firmly shut in his face, wills the tears not to fall and shouts 'that's what I thought' at the door, though the boy behind it is long gone, like he was never there.

Maybe he never was.

Molly can't really tell what's real or fake anymore.

* * *

It's a nearly inaudible mumble (Arthur never was a particularly loud boy) but the words make her day.

"Can I have this dance?"

She glances towards Eleanor (her 'date' for Slughorn's Christmas party, after both trying and failing to get boys to go with them, they decided to crash as hopeless, helpless singles), who nods her head and gives her the thumbs up - a motion which Molly decides to ignore, wandering off to find the punch - which has by this point, no doubt been spiked with firewhisky.

"I heard you broke up with Tyler."

"Him sticking his tongue down Jasmine Lewis' throat didn't exactly help the relationship."

"I'm sorry."

Is he? Probably. Arthur is that sort of person.

"Look, Molly," he clears his throat awkwardly, hands seeming to fly everywhere at once (he does that when he's nervous, she remembers), clumsily tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and gulping quietly to himself. "I think..."

She stands there, hardly believing what he's about to do - finally after all this time (a little late, but still).

"I think..." Arthur takes a deep breath and steadies himself, "I think I like you."

"Oh." She watches his face fall and tilts his chin upwards with her fingers gently. "That's good."

"It is?" he stammers out, eyes not leaving hers, swaying softly to 'A Cauldron Full Of Hot, Strong Love.'

"Yeah. Because I think I like you too."

* * *

I don't own:

Harry Potter

The Ugly Duckling

King Arthur

This cover image, which I got by typing 'love' into google images and belongs to someone other than me.

**A/N** I don't even know where this came from...

My dreamcasts for young Molly and Arthur are Sara Rue and Luke Newberry respectively.

If you made it this far, then please, please scroll down to box at the bottom of the page and request a couple. You don't even have to properly review (thought it would be nice). It's as simple as typing your favourite pairing in and clicking submit review (for example: Blaise/Parvati for me)


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